


take it as is

by strictlybecca



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, M/M, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strictlybecca/pseuds/strictlybecca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the love of a house and a desperate need to find something in the world just for himself, Agron Schmidt crosses the country and settles in the tiny town of Larkhill. Little does he know that falling for the town's historian, Nasir Hakim, is going to be far more complicated than any renovations could ever be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. how to flip a house (and flip out your parents)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my primary fill for Spartacus Reverse Big Bang, in response to the incredible fanmix prompt by the ever-more incredible [wordslinging](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinging/pseuds/wordslinging) \- whose bigbang is perfect beyond measure. This is definitely, probably, most likely not what they intended, but hopefully still worth the read! Thanks to my beta team who returned this to me with grace and poise and a distaste for commas and who are not responsible for any errors I made after the fact.
> 
> Note: This fic contains a brief description of an unwanted sexual advance - which is rebuffed and taken care of via Nasir and Agron's usual MO, aka kicking ass. There is also mention of Nasir, in high school, dealing with bullies, with no explicit description. Let me know if you need more information before reading on!

"Sorry," Agron grimaced, attempting to adjust the screen on his laptop, the image of Duro frozen mid word as Skype stuttered for about the millionth time. "The internet here sucks."

“Maybe if you didn't insist on staying at the Bates Motel every night,” Duro complained but with little heat behind it. “Just don’t get murdered and try not to get pregnant from the amount of semen left on your sheets.”

“I'll do my best not to make you an uncle,” Agron promised.

“Don’t tell mom and dad that,” Duro muttered, “They still think this whole thing is your way of getting back at them for not being totally okay with the gay thing right off the bat.” 

Agron huffed out a breath, trying not to roll his eyes. “I've told them a thousand fucking times that I'm over it-”

“I know, I know,” Duro said hurriedly, cutting him off. “No need to kill the messenger dude, I'm on your side here.”

Agron made a face reminiscent of someone beating their head against a wall repeatedly. “Yeah, I know, sorry _bruder_. I just don't have the energy to keep reminding them that I'm in charge of my own life. I bought that house with my own fucking money, I’m rebuilding it and I’m running a goddamn inn there if it kills me.” _Which_ , a voice in Agron’s head said _, it might just._

Duro made a show of pretending to tear up, clutching his chest like a swooning fan at a Beatles concert. “Preach it, bro,” he teased, making Agron bark out a laugh. “But seriously _bruder_ , you’re preaching to the choir here. Now go to bed, if you're gonna make it to your early meeting in Bumfuckhillwhatever, you're gonna have to start driving at the ass crack of morning, which is approximately,” Duro mock glanced at his watchless wrist, “Not that fucking far away.”

“It’s Larkhill,” Agron said, for approximately the fifteen millionth time. “And yeah, yeah, I know.” Agron glanced at the clock on his computer for roughly the hundred millionth time and sighed. “Sleep is probably a good idea.”

“Ya _think_?” Duro said, but not without affection. “Sleep well tonight, get up tomorrow, kick some fucking small town ass, shake some hands, kiss some babies, and go build yourself an inn. Yeah?” Agron huffed a laugh but nodded. “Good,” Duro said with satisfaction. “Now,” he raised his knuckles and pressed them to the cam, making the screen go dark for a brief moment. Agron obediently lifted his own knuckles and tapped them audibly against his laptop camera. “Night bro,” Duro said, smiling.

“Night,” Agron signed off and flopped back onto his bed.

It took a whole ten minutes before he was sighing and rolling back off the mattress. He was too fucking wired and too fucking nervous to just go to sleep - as exhausted as he was. He needed a drink, but he wasn’t about to spend twenty dollars on a tiny bottle of something crappy from his minibar. Down the road, the nearest bar had had a rainbow flag out front and that sounded like just what Agron needed – some hot guys to observe and a beer or two to calm his nerves, that was all. 

He was sincerely lacking in club clothes though, so he did his utmost best with his tightest jeans, a pair of boots whose laces he could still tie and a white tank top. He gave himself a quick onceover in the mirror and shrugged – this was as good as it was going to get. He ruffled his hair a bit, grabbed his wallet and keys and motel card and headed out. A beer, maybe two. Then home.

He should have known then that a quiet night out for him would never actually be, in any way imaginable, _quiet_.

“Fuck, keep your hands to yourself,” a blonde woman snapped from further down the bar, some tall, fairly handsome guy sliding a hand off her ass as she whirled on him. Agron had been sitting at the bar for only a few minutes, beer in hand, before his attention was caught first by the commotion, but then by the gorgeous man sitting beside the furious woman. The man, whose hair hung down around his face, was already half out of his seat, a steady presence beside what was clearly his friend, who looked like she was about to tear the douchebag a new one.

“I don’t come to fucking gay bars to get groped by assholes like you,” she snarled, planting an elbow in the guy’s chest and shoving him away deftly. “Back off.”

“I know you like dick,” the guy said, crowding even further in, all certainty and smugness, “I saw you flirting with the bartender earlier.”

“And I have no interest in yours,” the blonde woman said, face twisted up in fury, pressed awkwardly into her seat by the man’s looming presence, not managing to get the leverage she’d had before. “Get the fuck out of my face.”

“C’mon,” the guy started to wheedle, his hand drifting towards her side, “I just-”

“You fucking touch her again,” her friend snarled, “And I will tear your fucking hands off.” He shouldered himself between the Creepy Asshole and his friend and shoved – _hard_. Agron saw in that split-second just how strong the gorgeous guy was – it was in the tensed muscles of his arms and shoulders that were apparent in his tight black t-shirt, the vicious and satisfied curl of his lips as the Creepy Asshole hit the floor. “Fuck off,” he spat, turning back to his friend, eyes softening immediately. 

It became clear to Agron in that moment that this guy was not going to disappear. He was going to come back harder and meaner now that he’d been embarrassed and that his pride had been bruised. Agron was out of his seat before he’d even registered it, carefully and quickly making his way the few feet down the bar through the crowd. He reached the trio just as the man jumped back up and made for Agron’s crush, going for the cheap fucking chokehold around his neck – but not before Agron reached him. Agron, not for the first time, thanked whatever deity may or may have existed for his long reach which allowed him to stretch an arm out and drag the Creepy Asshole away from the two friends before any damage was done.

Agron then wrapped his arm around the asshole’s neck, locking his elbow just beneath the chin and hauling him back and close. “Now, that was just fucking cheap, dude,” Agron said, tightening his grip until he heard a strangled gasp. “You should apologize and then just get the fuck out of here.”

Agron loosened his chokehold just enough to let the asshole get some air and say, “Fucking faggot and his fucking teasing bitch friend-” before Agron had heard enough and silenced him again, arm crushing his windpipe.

“Well, now I just want to punch you in the fucking face,” Agron said conversationally before glancing over at the man and the woman, who were watching the proceedings with mild confusion and what looked like a hell of a lot of amusement. “Would either of you like the honor?”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” the woman said, a smirk curling her lips as her eyes wandered along Agron’s arm. “Don’t you think so?”

“Yeah,” the man said, eyes dark, his thumb pressed against his lower lip with consideration. “I’d say so.” Agron was suitably distracted for a second before remembering he had a struggling, slowly suffocating asshole thrashing beneath his grip. 

Agron let him go abruptly, before planting a hand on his shoulder to spin and then steady him right before slamming a clean right hook into his too-handsome face. The guy went down like a sack of rocks, but not before the bouncers were on Agron like he’d just taken down the president.

“No fighting,” said the short but massive dude who had Agron’s arms in a rough grip. “You’re gone.”

“Lugo, let him go, he was defending us,” Beautiful Hair said, standing from his seat. “The guy on the floor is the one you need to bounce.” 

“No fighting,” Lugo repeated, not loosening his grip on Agron, who was eagerly watching as the Creepy Asshole got hauled away by two other massive dudes in black. “No exceptions.”

“That asshole was putting his hands on me Lugo,” the woman said firmly, “This guy was just helping out, I swear. Let him be.” 

Lugo, who looked like he could bench press Agron over his head without breaking a sweat, gave Agron a sidelong glance. Agron tried to look as innocent as possible, which – judging by the snort of the gorgeous guy beside him – he was failing miserably to do.

“Chadara’s right, Lugo,” the man said, brushing a strand of gorgeous dark hair behind his ear, his voice firm. “That dickwad came at us from behind, he came to our rescue.”

“I wouldn’t say rescue-” Agron protested, but froze when Gorgeous Hair pressed a finger to his lips, a less than subtle _shut the fuck up if you want this to go your way._

Lugo eyed him for a second longer before shrugging and letting Agron go. “I trusting you two,” he said, his accent sounding just like Agron’s grandfather’s, crisp and throaty and familiar.

“ _Danke_ ,” Agron said, offering his hand to Lugo, who grinned back suddenly, pleased.

“ _Keine ursache_ ,” he replied, shaking Agron’s gladly. “ _Woher kommst du?_ ”

“ _Mein Großvater_ ,” Agron managed to get out, his accent crappy from disuse and a general inability to speak German. “ _Er ist von Berlin_.”

“ _Gut, gut_ ,” Lugo said cheerfully, clapping Agron on the back hard enough that Agron felt his kneecaps quake in response. “Enjoy the night.” 

Agron turned back to the two friends, who were staring at one another meaningfully, clearly carrying a whole conversation in silence and raised eyebrows. A second later, the man sighed and slipped back into his seat, gesturing for another beer, while the woman beckoned Agron over to the other seat beside her and patted it welcomingly. He sat, offering an uncertain smile.

“You were quick to jump in,” the woman said, taking a sip of her drink and playing with the rim of her glass. “You do that often?” A second later, the music swelled to an almost deafening level and Agron grimaced before answering.

“I mean, dude, you look like you can definitely handle your own shit,” Agron shouted over the heavy beat, leaning in towards the blonde woman, whose mouth was twisted up into a pleased grin. “But like, that dickwad was one of those assholes who won’t accept anything unless said by someone else with a dick. Also, I really needed to fucking hit something, it’s been a pretty shitty week.”

“I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve ever been called dude in my life,” the woman called back, smiling and tilting her head slightly as she inspected Agron.  “And I can’t say I’m unfamiliar with that species of asshole. Can I buy you a drink for the rescue?”

“Assist,” Agron corrected, “It was definitely an assist, and ah,” Agron saw how she was looking at him, how her eyes lingered at the places on his body that usually made him smirk a little with pride – but she wasn’t what he wanted. “I’m good, thanks,” he said, offering a smile to soften the blow. “I’m, uh, not just here for the drink, y’know?” He made an awkward gesture around to the half-naked dancing boys and the girl’s mouth twisted into a smirk as realization set in. Agron’s eyes darted instinctually to the man behind her, who was studiously looking at his own drink and definitely not at Agron, and so Agron heaved a mental sigh. Not interested, apparently. “You both have a good night, all right?”

Agron shouldered his way through the crowd, beer dangling from his fingertips as he used his wide shoulders indiscriminately to make his way to a miraculously available table. _So if not Beautiful Hair then who?_ Agron asked himself as he sat, surveying the dance floor for anyone who caught his eye – but if he was being perfectly honest with himself, his mind was still hovering around those sturdy shoulders and dark eyes and that fierce, dangerous snarl. Maybe he’d just go home.

“Hello?” there was suddenly a voice in his ear and Agron started violently, nearly overturning his own beer as he turned to see just who would approach him when he was so clearly far, far away.

It was Beautiful Hair. _Fuck._ Agron felt all of himself stand at attention. “Hi,” the man said, sliding in across from Agron, setting another beer down in front of him on the table.

“Hi,” Agron said, smiling but still wary. “This isn’t from your friend, is it? Because I already told her-”

“No,” the man said, leaning forward until his knuckles were brushing where Agron’s fingers were wrapped around his nearly empty bottle. “It’s from me." 

Agron’s uncertain smile bloomed, dimples and all. “And it’s not just a thank you for helping out, right? Because neither you nor your friend owe me anything, I just-”

“Shut up,” the man said, leaning forward even more and pressing his lips to Agron’s – the table was in their way and he had to avoid a few empty glasses, so it was a little off center, more the corner of Agron’s lips than anything else, but it still made Agron’s heart thud loudly in his ears. He pulled away and Agron just stared. “It’s because you’re hot and seemingly a decent guy and I’m really, really glad you’re not straight.”

Agron grinned. “I’m really, really glad you’re not straight too,” he replied simply and took another long pull from his beer, more than a little gratified at the way the man’s eyes clung to the line of Agron’s throat.

“I’m Agron,” he called over the music, and the man nodded.

“I’m Nasir,” he said, tugging a hand through his long hair, heat in his eyes. “Wanna dance?” Agron nodded jerkily and let himself be tugged out of his booth and towards the dance floor, obediently wrapping Nasir up in his arms and holding him close as the song turned dirty and slow almost instantly. _God loves me and wants me to be happy_ , Agron thought, before his mind melted away under the combined efforts of Nasir’s hips pressed to his and Nasir’s dark, wicked eyes staring up at him.

Nasir’s hands slid slowly up Agron’s chest, lacing his fingers together around the back of Agron’s neck, using his new leverage to press his advantage and tug Agron down for a brain melting, soul devouring kiss. Nasir kissed like he was born to it, like he was made for it – Agron almost moaned as Nasir’s tongue pushed into his mouth, until Nasir’s hands wandered over his ass, squeezing and groping, and then he _did_ moan, an uneven drawn-out sound that just seemed to provoke Nasir more.

Agron wasn’t usually cheesy – though Duro would disagree if given the chance – but he swore to God that kissing Nasir was familiar in the oddest, greatest way. There was none of that first kiss awkwardness, no ‘where should my nose go’ or ‘do you usually lean left or right’ – everything about his lips pressed against Agron’s felt easy and right.

“Wanna get out of here?” Nasir managed half a heartbeat later, standing on his tiptoes, assisted by Agron’s arm looped under his ass, giving him another inch or two. His lips were pressed to the shell of Agron’s ear, tongue darting out to trace the shape as Agron struggled to remember how words in English generally sounded.

“Yeah,” Agron breathed finally, “I’m down the road at the motel.”

Agron would have loved to pretend as if he didn’t remember the walk from the club to his motel, that he and Nasir were too wrapped up in one another to even think about anything that wasn’t their bodies pressed against one another – but Agron remembered all too well the pure agony of the walk, his hard dick chafing against his too tight jeans, Nasir looking rumpled and delicious with every step, their only shared touch a brush of fingertips as they crossed the street.

The anticipation nearly fucking killed him.

Once in the room, Nasir wasted no time in tackling Agron against the door, Agron’s bulk slamming against the wood sounding like someone had overturning the bed and breaking the headboard.

Nasir’s mouth covered his and Agron had to pretend like his breath hadn’t stuttered in reply, instead licking back between Nasir’s lips eagerly, pressing his height advantage shamelessly. Nasir’s hand clenched tightly around Agron’s upper arm and in response, Agron took his sweet time to bite gently at Nasir’s bottom lip, swallowing the noise of surprised pleasure he made.

It went on and on, all heat and racing hearts and nervous fingers. Agron moaned, pulling back only enough to take a quick breath before pressing in again, arms wrapping around Nasir and half boosting him up with hands cupped under his ass in order to bring him closer. They were pressed together at every possible point, chests and bellies and hips and thighs until Nasir wrapped his legs around Agron’s hips and forced them even closer, dragging Agron’s lip between his teeth and smiling when Agron let out a moan from deep in his chest.

“You’re going to fucking kill me,” Agron said, hands groping eagerly at the perfect ass they clutched, hips rolling languidly to force those precious grunts and groans from Nasir’s lips.

“Not yet,” Nasir murmured, a groan torn from his lips as Agron’s lips and teeth began a steady focus of the spot behind his ear. “I need you to fuck me, and then I desperately need to fuck you.”

Agron let out a pathetic whine and Nasir laughed.

“Still glad you brought me home with you?” Nasir asked, toying with a lock of Agron’s hair.

“Fuck, like I could be anything else,” he hissed, stumbling a little, Nasir clutched to him. “You’re _trying_ to fucking kill me,” he accused, righting himself and continuing towards the bed, letting Nasir drop with a bounce against it.

“You’re no use to me dead,” Nasir said with a grin, flopping backwards. “Now c’mon, I’ve been waiting for this since you punched that dick in the club.”

-

Agron awoke that next morning to the hope that there would be a warm presence along his side, maybe some shitty motel coffee and some way less shitty morning sex. Instead, he was greeted by a fairly cool spot beside him on the sheets and a crinkle of paper beneath the hand he stretched out to explore where Nasir was most definitely _not_.

 _A note_ , Agron’s bleary and disappointed mind said. He sat up and stretched before reading it, rubbing occasionally at his heavy lidded eyes.

_A –_

_Sorry to run like this, would’ve much preferred to stay for round three. (Four?) Unfortunately, I have a ridiculously early meeting to make. Take care of yourself, keep punching out douchebags, keep being incredible in bed._

_\- N_

And then, below his initial, Nasir had written something and then half scratched it out, as if in regret. But then he’d written it again, more clearly, beside the first scribble.

_PS. Still glad? ‘Cause I am._

Agron laughed and flopped backwards in bed, filled with satisfaction and regret all at once – Nasir had been so much _fun_ , so funny and quick and wicked and smart. And gorgeous, of course. Agron was still glad he’d taken Nasir home – but at the same time, he couldn’t help but wish that the planets had aligned or something. That last night had been something other than just one night. But Nasir had had to go, to make an early meeting and-

Suddenly, Agron’s entire body went rigid. _Fuck._ “Fuck, shit, fuck goddamn,” he swore, tumbling out of bed with a crazed flail, scrambling first for his bag and then for his pants. “Oh, fucking fuck fuck, shit fuck, fuck!” Agron’s meeting was in roughly forty-five minutes and it would take him at least that to get from his current location to Larkhill – but he still had to get dressed, shower, check out and pack up his shit. 

Agron briefly considered not showering – that was a whole ten minutes, he thought forlornly as he untangled himself from the sheets on the bed – but he smelled pretty ripe even to his own nose. A shower would be fucking necessary – if only to help erase the thoughts of Nasir that lingered and distracted.

 _Focus Agron_ , he snarled in his mind as he stumbled into the shower, grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste and multitasking as well as he could manage – which was not very much at all. “Focus,” he repeated aloud through every step of his morning process – half of which he had to skip in favor of time. “Pants, keys, wallet, shoes, focus, focus.” _Don’t think about Nasir_ , he chanted, mind drifting every time he had to climb over the bed for something else he’d forgotten, remembering how Nasir’s hair had looked against the white sheets, how warm he’d been against Agron’s body.

“Fucking focus Agron,” he snapped, finally hauling his bag over his shoulder and sprinting for the main office of the motel. “We don’t have fucking time for this.” Or the emotional fortitude to deal with something feeling suspiciously like disappointment over a missed connection.

Then again, there was always the forty-five minute drive to Larkhill to fill with thoughts of Nasir and realizations of just how pathetic Agron really was. Agron couldn’t _wait_.

- 

It was, Agron reflected, just his fucking luck.

Not only had he arrived to the meeting roughly ten minutes late, hair still wet and plastered to his head, shirt hardly tucked in and suit coat shrugged on not ten seconds before walking into the conference room – forget the tie, Agron was half sure he’d left it back at the hotel – to the stern and disapproving gazes of a line of old ladies, peering judgingly over their glasses at him – he’d also managed to almost knock over the Mayor of Larkhill while storming through the door. But that wasn’t the worst part – Agron really hadn’t realized just how bad his luck could get.

No, really, honestly – he just wanted to know if what he was experiencing had actually ever happened to another human being or if it was one of those things better left to works of fiction and really, genuinely terrible Lifetime movies. (Agron was not above admitting that there were a few Lifetime movies he enjoyed, but usually only because Duro forced him into watching them and he was sticking to that story.)

Sitting across from him, prim and poised and utterly, mouth-wateringly gorgeous, was Nasir. He of the delicious ass and delightfully dirty mouth. He who would haunt Agron’s sex dreams for the rest of time. He who Agron thought he would never see again in his life.

“Hi,” Agron had managed weakly, shaking Nasir’s hand, his eyes zeroed in on the hidden spot on Nasir’s collarbone that Agron _knew_ he had left a mark. Nasir’s eyes had hardly left his clipboard since their initial handshake and it was all Agron could do to not lay down in the middle of the conference room and beg for death

Apparently, Nasir was the Larkhill Town Historian, in charge of all of the tiny town’s efforts to turn its oldest places into federally recognized historical landmarks, curating the small house museum the Council kept funded through a bizarre mix of fundraisers and taxes, helping the librarian whenever dealing with town historical documents and basically doing a whole host of things that Agron hadn’t quite caught but that had sounded impressive. And as the town historian, Nasir was also apparently in charge of maintaining the accuracy of the town’s oldest house’s architecture.

“I hope you understand why it’s so important to have Dr. Hakim with us today,” Spartacus said smoothly and Agron was nodding before he’d even really heard what the Mayor of Larkhill had said – and then he’d had to swallow his tongue because _doctor?_ Nasir had a _doctorate?_ Agron fought the urge to swear aloud. _Fucking kill him now_.

“Dr. Hakim will be very helpful in the project planning stages,” Agron said in as calm a tone as he could muster, fighting with himself over attempting to catch Nasir’s eye before eventually giving in and glancing over at him. 

The _worst_ part of this whole fucking thing was that Nasir looked even better in daylight than he had in Agron’s bed (though it was a close call, all rumpled and soft-edged was pretty amazing as well) – he’d tossed his hair up into a messy bun, stuck a pencil in it and called it a day. Agron’s fingers itched to reach up and slide the pencil out, to play with that soft dark hair again, to remember how silky it had felt against his fingers, how Nasir had nearly purred in his arms over the head massage Agron had given him as they laid together between their second and third rounds. He wore dark rimmed, square glasses that made him look ridiculously hot in that studious way Agron had always pretended wasn’t his type – and that plus the doctorate, plus the fact that Nasir was a history buff…

 _Well_. Agron was fucked.

“Not just in the planning stages,” Miss Marjorie interjected. She was Treasurer of the _Larkhill Community Council_ \- also known as the benevolent dictatorship that observed all the goings on of the town – and tapping her long, clawlike fingers against the formica that made up the hideous conference table. “We expect Nasir to be a part of every aspect of this project.” 

“We simply don’t trust anyone else with a job like this,” Amanda Pendleton, President of the LCC, simpered in that way she had where words left her mouth without her lips moving out of her creepy, Stepford-style smile. “You understand.”

Agron caught himself before he started nodding automatically again and forced himself to review what he’d just heard. “You want Nas- Dr. Hakim,” he amended hurriedly, “to… work on the house?” He couldn’t help the confusion in his voice. “Does he have any experience?”

“He does not,” replied a familiar voice, heavy with amusement. “He’s also sitting right here.” Nasir was twirling a pen in his fingers, clipboard propped up on his crossed leg. He looked much less horrified now that he’d had a minute or so to collect himself. “They mean they want me on site pretty much constantly.”

 _Constantly_. The word echoed in Agron’s head like a bad movie effect. _Fuck, shit, goddamn fucking shit fuck,_ his mind chanted even as he offered up a polite smile to the table. “To keep an eye on progress?” he said, his tone miraculously even.

“To smooth the process along,” Amanda Pendleton lied through her teeth. And lips. And the weird thing she was doing with her tongue.

“To spy,” Agron corrected, immediately hearing Duro’s voice in the back of his head _no Agron, bad Agron! Behave!_

Several voices broke out at once, a few offended ladies of the council, Spartacus attempting to maintain peace through, Agron assumed, increasing the volume of his voice exponentially – but it was Nasir he heard.

“I’m not going to be there to tattle on you and your crew,” Nasir said seriously. “I’m there for the logistics and the details. I’ll be your personal assistant if you need it Mr. Schmidt, but you can be damn sure that I’ll also be making sure we’re ordering period-accurate wood and following the original floorplans of the house as closely as possible. This isn’t about your ego,” Nasir said firmly, “It’s about the house." 

Agron looked at him for a long second, his overwhelming attraction to Nasir’s body being overshadowed for the first time by an overwhelming attraction to his confidence and self-assuredness. The house had been why he’d done this, after all. It had been easy to see that the Old East House had been a beautiful property once upon a time – even through the pictures and grainy video walkthrough online. There was something about the history, the character – Agron loved that house and he hadn’t even seen it in real life yet. He loved it enough to cross the entire country to work his ass off to make it livable again – so he and Nasir were at least on the same page about that.

“That,” Agron said, planting his elbows on the table and leaning in slightly, “is something I can definitely live with.”

Agron pretended like he wasn’t a second away from swooning when Nasir sent him a soft, careful smile.

“Well, that makes all of us!” Spartacus boomed and Agron jumped. “Let’s shake on it and then we’ll go sign all the documentation, hm?” Agron automatically took all the hands offered to him, shaking quickly but firmly until all there was left to greet was one lone historian who was studiously not looking at him again.

Agron crossed slowly toward him, debating what he would say, whether or not to offer a hand again – and then spoke before he could stop himself. “Still glad?” he muttered, as he leaned forward to shake Nasir’s hand. Nasir’s eyes went wide before his lips quirked into a half-hearted smile that was part anxiety, part bewilderment. 

“I guess we’ll see,” he said softly, squeezing Agron’s hand briefly. “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Schmidt. _Professionally_.” His emphasis on the word left no uncertainty about just where this relationship was going.

“And you, Dr. Hakim,” Agron replied, mouth dry, gaze dropping to his shoes as his stomach twisted in disappointment.

(Okay, so he watched Nasir’s ass as he left the room, so sue him – he was only human.)


	2. how to caulk a sink (and your broken heart)

Working with Agron was easier than Nasir had expected.

Okay, that was a bald faced lie, but it was what Nasir was telling himself over and over again in order to survive his afternoons on Agron’s worksite. He wasn’t at all required to be there as often as he was (his use of the word constantly in that initial meeting had been a little heavy-handed, he conceded) but he was willing to admit – if only to himself – that he had ulterior motives. He fit in well enough, though; he knew most of the contractors and workers on the site. Hell, he’d gone to school with half of them – and been shoved into lockers and called mildly racist nicknames by the shittier part of that half.

“Hakim!” one of them called, waving a hand and grinning. Nasir squinted, trying to place the face. It took it him a second, but-

“Riordan,” Nasir replied, giving him a nod and holding his clipboard close to his chest like a shield. “It’s been a few.” Not enough. Not nearly fucking enough.

“A few years,” Matthew Riordan said, adjusting his tool belt in the way that Nasir had come to learn meant look how big my dick is. Nasir ignored it manfully, trying not to roll his eyes. Matthew Riordan had been part of the meaner half of Nasir’s schoolmates, though his cruelty as a child had definitely stemmed from latent homosexual tendencies and a repressed, desperate want of Nasir’s dick. And, Nasir sighed mentally, it was clear that that repression had not cleared up – unlike Matthew’s horrific acne, huh, good for him.

“How’ve you been?” Nasir managed politely, trying not to remember the fifteen separate times that Matthew had attempted to shove Nasir into his own locker, hands wandering all the while.

“Oh, you know, good.”

“Still dating Cathy?” Nasir asked, with a neutral smile. Matthew’s smile turned a little sour.

“Yeah,” he replied, a beat too late. “Still going strong.”

“What’s that been now,” Nasir asked carelessly, neutral smile still locked firmly in place. “Ten years now? And no wedding on the horizon?” Nasir saw with some satisfaction as Matthew’s smile turned into more of a bearing of teeth.

“Y’know, hate to rush into things.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Nasir said agreeably. “Listen Matthew, I’ve got some things to check up on, I’ll see you later.”

Matthew made an agreeable noise, eyes sharp on Nasir, who smiled pleasantly back, his entire face brimming with fuck you fuck you fuck you. Nasir pivoted sharply on his heel and made for the front steps of the house, pausing only when he reached the lowest step and could no longer see anyone inside the house.

“So,” came a new but intensely familiar voice, low and close to Nasir’s ear. “Call me a small-town amateur, but that sounded like a little bit more than polite conversation between old high school buddies.”

“You aiming for a merit badge in decoding fuck yous?” Nasir asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could control them.

Agron snorted. “Something like that,” he shrugged. “So, you weren’t friends in high school.”

“No,” Nasir said, an incredulous little smile settling on his lips. “Far from it. Though I don’t think Matthew would’ve objected if I’d gone the enemies with benefits route.” It was astonishing to see the change that went over Agron’s face. Mild amusement shifted suddenly to a dark look in Matthew’s general direction, Agron’s features narrowing sharply.

“Jeez,” Agron said, “Are any of these guys on the crew not assholes?” Nasir gave a good, long considering look at his clipboard, flipping through the two pages of crew names there.

“Ah,” he paused. “Um, no,” he answered honestly.

“I swear to god, half the guys in that room think it’s funny to spew off some dick remark or fucked up joke about whatever bullshit crosses their mind.”

“Welcome to Larkhill,” Nasir sing-songed, flipping back through his clipboard, remembering high school with a shudder. “All the small town charm of a shithole.” Agron laughed, but eyed him closely.

“And yet,” he said slowly, “You’re still here.” Nasir’s face suddenly went blank, like Agron had pushed a button and turned him off.

“Yeah,” he said tersely, “I am.”

“That – damn, that wasn’t an insult Nasir, I promise,” Agron said hurriedly, “Just… an observation. Why surround yourself with dicks like this, when-” he snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, that sounded worse than I wanted it to.” Nasir had to fight not to laugh at just how pathetically adorable Agron was in the face of awkwardness. “Just, did you want to leave at any point, I guess?” Agron asked, glancing down at his shoes and studiously not looking at Nasir.

Nasir looked at him, trying to bite down on the automatic defensive response he had when his motives were questioned. “I thought about it,” he said honestly, “My family’s here. And yeah, some of the people in the town can be pretty shitty, I don’t think most of them have ever seen another brown person in their entire life. But,” Nasir shrugged, “I grew up here, I have friends here. And allies. And it’s not all bad, despite the impression I give.” Nasir watched as Agron wiggled his toes in his boots and tried again not to laugh at the completely incongruous sight of the giant looking abashed.

“No,” Agron agreed, nodding quietly. He chanced a peek over at Nasir. “It’s definitely not all bad.” There was a long moment of quiet between them, filled with the sounds of hammers and nails and grunting workers. “But,” he said into the quiet, “I think we need some new crew members. Got anyone in mind?”

Nasir beamed. “I can think of a few.”

-

Nasir’s new crewmembers seemed to come in two shapes. Ones with shoulder spans wide enough to give even Agron a complex and ridiculously gorgeous women who scared the shit out of him.

Needless to say, Agron was pretty happy. Although he could’ve done with less of the insanely attractive men wandering around half shirtless, all of whom seemed to know Nasir far better than Agron ever would. Most of them seemed to be straight, so there was that, but before, at least Agron had known there wasn’t any other eye candy for Nasir to look at. Now, he could spit and hit three models.

Honestly, Agron’s favorite was Saxa. Beautiful in that deadly sort of way, where he knew that if he ever commented on how gorgeous she was she’d probably tear his throat out. Agron found in her a kindred spirit. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she yelled at him as she stormed onto the site on her second day, watching as some of the original wood beams of the house were measured for removal. “What the fuck are you fucking thinking?”

“I’m fucking thinking that we need to recalculate how much load that carrying beam is going to need to hold or the entire foundation’s gonna fucking collapse,” he yelled back instinctively, registering after only a second that that probably hadn’t been the most appropriate response to one of his team cursing him out. There was a pause and then Saxa cackled gleefully.

“I like ‘im, Nasir,” she called over her shoulder. “I think this’ll work out.”

So, Agron spent all his time that wasn’t devoted to thinking, breathing and dreaming about the Old East House, studiously trying not to hit on Nasir – and instead, hitting on all the beautiful women he knew wouldn’t take him seriously.

And Gannicus. Who no one took seriously.

“Mira, darling, love of my life,” Agron said, coming in one day with some horrific news. “You know that project I’ve had you working on for the past two days?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, the word hissing out behind her lips, her gaze turning to steel as she turned to look at Agron.

“Weeell, I’m going to want you to not work on that anymore,” he said, trying to look penitent and puppy-like and unworthy of violence or retribution.

“Why?” she asked dangerously.

“Because NOBA is cracking down on us again.” NOBA had become their codename for Larkhill’s council. Apparently Agron’s brother had come up with it during one of their nightly Skype sessions and it had taken Nasir a full day before he’d worked up the courage to ask Agron what it meant.

He was more than a little charmed to see that Agron blushed when he told him, “Nasty Old Biddy Association?” he said, looking like a third grader about to get in trouble with his teacher. Nasir had just snorted, shaking his head.

“It’s like you were born here, or something,” he’d teased. “Usually it takes a year or two before someone figures out that the council is made up of pure evil incarnate in the form of tiny old women in pastel colored hats.”

Agron’s lips had split into a wide grin, knee-weakening dimples and all. “I’m a quick study, what can I say?”

“Can the two of you flirt some other time?” Auctus had demanded, “Someone needs to tell me what I’m doing with the kitchen.” They’d both blushed and went to sort out the projects on Auctus’ list.

For now though, Agron’s face was screwed up in apology, his hands held out as if in supplication. “NOBA keeps hitting us with more and more bullshit to make our lives hell, I can’t do anything about it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Mira said, her voice still level.

“I’m sorry Mir, you know that I think you’re beautiful and wonderful and it’s terribly tragic that I’m not interested in vaginas because you’d be number one,” Agron said in his most placating tone of voice. Mira looked only mildly assuaged by Agron’s ridiculous flattery and Nasir tried not to listen.

“I think Saxa wants another hand on her project though,” Agron pointed out. “But don’t tell her I sent you to help her,” he amended quickly. “I don’t need her resenting me more than she already does.” Mira laughed but disappeared upstairs a moment later to go find Saxa. Agron let out a long breath. “That could’ve been worse.”

“Could’ve been better,” Nasir said idly. Agron sighed.

“Yeah, I know. But I swear, it’s half impossible to get anything done in this town, not with the council riding me on every step of the process.” Agron heaved a sigh and flicked back through his clipboard of projects.

“It’s because you’re an outsider,” Nasir said, shrugging a shoulder. Agron glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “You weren’t born here, your family’s not from here, you have no ties to this town.” Nasir smiled but there was little joy behind it. “We tend not to trust people we don’t know here in Larkhill.”

“Even when they have good intentions?” Agron asked, gesturing to the house around them, looking exhausted.

“Even then.” Nasir confirmed. Quiet fell again between the two of them, Agron turning back to his work, Nasir turning back to his clipboard “So why’d you chose the East House?” Nasir asked bluntly, the words tumbling out of him before he could find enough energy to censor himself. He turned to see Agron pause in what he was doing, slowly straightening up where he was crouched beside a stack of wood. Nasir closed his eyes briefly, swearing at himself in his head before opening them and offering up a small, apologetic look. “I mean, I just-”

Agron held up a hand, shaking his head. “No, I know, I mean. I think I know.” He smiled a half smile and fidgeted with the clipboard in his hands. “It’s a pretty special place to the town, I know that.” He glanced up at the house, beautiful in its lines and features, its foundation strong and sturdy. “I wanted something for me,” he said, his eyes fixed on the highest window at the top of the house. “I wanted to do something that took me away from my friends and my family and was just mine, and I saw this house and I just…” He heaved a sigh and rubbed at his eyes, exhaustion showing in every shift of muscle. “I fell in love with her. She looked warm and strong and like a place I might be able to really be happy. She just needed some looking after first, and I’ve always been pretty good at that.” He smiled softly, almost to himself.

“Why do you love it so much?” Agron asked, taking a seat on the pile of wood, clipboard clutched in both hands.

“Her,” Nasir corrected quietly. Agron gave him a look. “Her,” he repeated a little more loudly, “You’re right, the house is a her.” A soft but bright smile bloomed across Agron’s lips and Nasir felt one appear on his own face a moment later in response.

“Her,” Agron amended. “Why do you love her so much?”

“It was, um,” Nasir swallowed, “It was hard moving here, years and years ago.” He sat on the bottom step, a foot or two away from where Agron was perched. “I was small, and I had an accent, and I didn’t look like the other kids.” Nasir rubbed his palms against his thighs. Agron’s face didn’t have a trace of a smile on it anymore – but he didn’t look angry, there was just intent around the lines of his mouth even as his eyes were soft as he stared at Nasir. “I got made fun of,” Nasir said, “And bullied. So, I read. A lot. And I really, really loved history, and history books. And there was this book on the town history that I read cover to cover, over and over and over again.” Nasir shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. “And I thought it might help me fit in. If I knew the history of the town, maybe I’d seem more like everyone else.” He smiled ruefully, remembering the small lonely boy he’d been just after the move. “I think we both know it didn’t work out quite the way I wanted. But the book talked about the East House, a lot. It’s kind of our one big historical landmark.

“The old woman who used to live here, Julia East, had been married to this old, rich guy who went off to war and died and left everything to her. And instead of doing as everyone expected and either remarrying and having a son to pass the house down onto, or retiring to some small cottage somewhere else, because a house like this would’ve been far too big for a woman like her to live in – especially without children - she decided that she would begin to take in all of the children whose parents had died or left or disappeared. There was a small orphanage in the town, but it was,” Nasir’s mouth twisted up, “Well, it was less than ideal. And she knew this, like everyone in the town knew this, but no one had done a thing about it until she decided that she would take in all the orphans and raise them to be her children, to be her heirs.”

Agron was spellbound.

“And I turned the page in that book,” Nasir said his voice building in excitement, “And there was this painting of her and her kids, all ages. A girl, you know, nearly eighteen, some boys and girls sprinkled around the sort of ten to twelve age. And they all looked different, but, the same,” he said. “Pale eyes, pale skin, light or dark hair. But then right in the middle of this painting, there was this little brown boy held on the lap of one of the girls and I just remember thinking – _he looks like me._ One of her sons had been a South Asian boy who’d been a servant to a family. And the family had gone destitute and left him when they moved away, because they couldn’t pay for his travel and didn’t want to pay for his food.” Nasir’s hands were moving of their own volition now, tracing the edges of his clipboard over and over again as the words tumbled from his mouth. It took everything in Agron not to drag himself closer, not to wrap himself around Nasir and just _do something_ that was more than just sit there and listen.

“And he grew up in this town, a little boy who looked a lot like me.” Nasir smiled a private little smile down at his hands. “A little boy who looked more like me than anyone else who ever lived in this town was part of one of the most important families here. And he went off to seek his fortune and he did and he lived happily ever after somewhere in the east, raised a big family, made a lot of money. So much so that his mother came out to live with him, leaving the house to the town, with orders that it serve whatever need in the community was greatest. And of course,” Nasir said, smiling wryly now, finally glancing back over at Agron, “No one could ever decide what need that was and so the house fell into disrepair and decayed over the years, until it became what you see now. But I love this house,” he said, patting fondly at the steps, “I used to sit here and imagine what the lives of those kids were like, learning to be a family.” He sighed. “It was the first time I could belong in a place that, maybe, didn’t belong to me. Not yet.” He flushed something fierce. “I’m sorry, that was – incredibly boring and drawn out, I’m sure, and uh-”

“No,” Agron assured hurriedly. “It was – I mean, thank you. Thank you for telling me that.” He smiled, dimples and all, stumbling through his words. God, hadn’t puberty been like twenty years ago? “That was, amazing. And I – I hope our work lives up to that. But, y’know, with you here, I don’t think that – that we could go wrong.” Nasir managed a small smile in return.

“I hope you’re right,” he said quietly, his chest warm and his heart thumping loudly.

-

“Yo, Gannicus, I know my ass is worth staring at, but could you please stop fucking around and get your shit done?” Agron called up into the rafters, clipboard in hand. Gannicus winked at him lecherously.

“Gimme the word and I’ll be there,” Gannicus called back and Agron laughed in spite of himself.

“You couldn’t handle this,” Agron taunted, still needing to raise his voice over the sound of the belt sanders going upstairs, but still not louder than the snorts of the ladies up on the balcony.

“Try me,” Gannicus bellowed back down at him, beaming like the asshole he was and cracking Agron up so hard that he didn’t notice the way Nasir withdrew from where he stood beside Agron on the landing. He stepped aside until he was nearly out of sight of everyone in the house.

Agron had _just_ been flirting with him, Nasir thought ruefully, crossing something off his sheet with vehemence. At least he’d thought so. _Fuck_ , this was so difficult – he still wasn’t sure why neither he nor Agron had brought up that night, why both of them decided that silence was the better part of valor and that their working together predicated on pretending it never happened. “I never agreed to that shit,” Nasir muttered under his breath, tearing another sheet off his notepad and crumpling it up viciously. Maybe he would just ask him - but part of him knew that he was far more likely to take the coward’s way out on this one. If given the chance, Nasir would stick what he knew – what was safest.

Agron was not a safe bet. At least, not anymore.

There were steps by the doorway and Nasir looked up, his heart thudding rapidly at the thought that it might be Agron coming to find him - “Nasir,” Mira started, her voice dipping low in that way she had when she was about to lecture him on something he didn’t want to talk or think about. Nasir sighed.

“No, Mira,” Nasir cut her off, slicing his clipboard through the air. “Stop right there, we’re not talking about this.”

“I think we should. I think we should absolutely talk about the way you feel about him. And the way he feels about you.”

“It’s pretty clear he doesn’t take me seriously,” Nasir said, eyes firmly locked on his clipboard.

“Nasir, that’s pretty dumb,” Mira said bluntly. “You know he’s joking with the flirting with-”

“I know of course he’s joking with Gannicus, I’m not a fucking idiot,” Nasir snapped, before wincing. “Sorry Mir, I didn’t… I don’t mean to take it out on you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough for it to be painful.

“Honestly, I think you’re over thinking this, Nasir,” Mira said plainly, “Just because he flirts with Gannicus and me and Saxa, doesn’t mean him flirting with you-

“Means any less?” Nasir said in a tone of voice that implied just the opposite. “I think that’s pretty much exactly what it means, Mira. He doesn’t treat me any differently than you guys, so I just don’t think he’s interested.”

Mira stared at him long and hard, Nasir trying not to shiver under her intense gaze. She sighed heavily, sounding as if all the world’s burdens were laden on her shoulders. “And I think you’re being an absolute jackass and that you’re also completely incapable of seeing what’s before you, _but_ I’ll wait for an _I told you_ so later. For now, please tell me what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Crixus is laying the floorboards for the stairs,” Nasir said gratefully, stepping back out onto the landing – no Agron in sight. “Make sure he’s using the oak, okay?”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

As much as Nasir wanted to believe Mira, he was finding it difficult to differentiate Agron’s teasing tones with him and Agron’s way of managing everyone else. _Maybe it just hadn’t meant that much,_ Nasir thought. It was entirely possible that he was attributing far too much to one single night. It had just felt _so_ good. _And maybe you’re mixing up good sex with actual emotions,_ a traitorous thought in Nasir’s brain suggested. “Endorphins aren’t love.”

“You say something?” A voice asked right at Nasir’s shoulder.

“Shi-” Nasir startled so hard at the sound that he tumbled backwards, towards a ledge with no railing and a fall nearly fifteen feet down.

“Shit! Fuck, Jesus fucking Christ!” Snatched nearly from mid-air, Nasir found himself caught up in Agron’s long arms. Absolute brain-melting terror aside, Agron’s hold felt familiar in a way Nasir had not anticipated feeling. His eyes were wide and his heartnwas still thumping wildly – but as the seconds ticked by, that was having less and less to do with the fact that he’d nearly just fallen a story and a half down onto a pile of two by fours and more to do with the fact that Agron was staring at him like he was something precious. “Fuck,” Agron swore again, pulling Nasir even closer, his breath brushing Nasir’s lips. “Fuck, Nasir, I didn’t mean to scare you like that, I just thought you knew I was there and-” As Agron stumbled over his words, Nasir’s thoughts just before his near-plummet a story and a half down flooded back into his brain.

 _Adrenaline isn’t love,_ another voice told him, and Nasir steeled himself.

“It’s fine,” he said abruptly, gently but firmly pushing Agron’s arms from where they were wrapped around his waist. “No harm done. Honestly, I’m fine. Did you want something?” Agron was still staring at him like Nasir held answers to a question that Agron couldn’t even decide on, but a split second later his expression was shuttered and he was taking a step further away from Nasir.

“N-no,” he said, sounding a little confused and a little winded. “No, I didn’t. Sorry. Again,” he said quietly. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Agron ducked back through the part of the house that was safe to walk through and Nasir did his best not to call after him.

 _That was stupid Nasir,_ said a voice in his brain that sounded exactly like Mira’s. _That was really fucking stupid._

 _But it was better this way,_ Nasir thought. A one-night stand didn’t mean a relationship. It was better for all of them if Nasir just finally got that through his head.

-

“You are fucking kidding me,” Agron growled a split second after hanging up his phone. He’d been pacing in front of the house for the past half an hour, leaving the crew to start in on replacing the rotting structural beams on the first floor, trusting Crixus and Auctus to take the lead on the project. Nasir had been more than a little pleased to see how easily Agron delegated and how quickly he’d come to trust in the years of experience that Crixus’ crew had brought to the table. But he was not as pleased to discover that Agron had spent the last thirty minutes making tortured faces and tearing at his own hair, stomping across the yard like he was on a mission to kill something or someone. 

“You are fucking _kidding_ me,” he snarled again and pitched his phone across the yard, Nasir hearing it land somewhere in the distant trees. Agron let off a short round of curses and kicked at something Nasir couldn’t see from his perch on the stoop. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, those fucking assholes,” Agron bit out, stomping back towards the house, hands tearing roughly through his hair. 

“Something wrong?” Nasir asked, his voice quiet but carrying. He was unsure his presence would even be welcome at this point to Agron, but he didn’t think he was capable of just standing by without saying anything. Agron started, having completely missed Nasir tucked away against the wide stone steps. Nasir watched him carefully, anxiety building in him. Agron looked _wrecked_ , anxious and tired and more than a little lost. “Agron,” Nasir said, eyes wide, standing quickly. “What happened?”

“They-” Agron breathed out, shutting his eyes for a brief second before opening them again and swallowing hard. “They, your council, whatever, they didn’t check for asbestos, they didn’t do the fucking check, they _told_ me they’d brought a guy in, they _told_ me this place was fine but they _didn’t fucking check_.” Agron looked like he might rip off the head of the next person he saw.

“And so we have to check,” Nasir said slowly, not phrasing it as a question, hoping that would prompt more information.

“ _Yes_ ,” Agron thundered, not at Nasir, but in the general direction of the trees, like yelling loud enough would make him feel better. “We have to check because it’s the fucking _law_ and if we find asbestos in the house, like we most likely will because this house was fucking built in 1881 and then fucking remodeled, then there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to pay for the abatement and I’m fucking _screwed_.” Agron was panting like he’d just run a marathon by the time he finished, his body slumped against one of the wide stone walls on either side of the house’s front steps.

“How much?” Nasir asked quietly and Agron flinched like he’d been stabbed.

“Fifteen thousand at the cheapest,” he said, exhaustion lacing every word. “Probably more.” He laughed hollowly, “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t have an extra fifteen k laying around.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and let his legs fold under him, settling himself on the wall. “I can’t believe they told me they fucking brought someone in.”

“And they didn’t,” Nasir said, standing and crossing to Agron’s side, hiking himself up to sit beside him on the wall. Agron didn’t even look at him, eyes focused somewhere on the ground.

“They only _planned_ on it,” Agron said, his voice twisting up into the high voice he used when mimicking one of the little old ladies who essentially had his balls in a chokehold. “There must have been some misunderstanding Mr. Schmidt, but be sure to have someone in before going any further.” He made a sound of disgust, dropping a hand into his hair and tugging it at roughly. “We’re already violating so many laws by doing all the work we’ve done without having tested, we’re so fucking screwed if someone else finds out about this.” 

Nasir had nothing helpful to offer, so he stayed quiet, his insides twisting with the desire to help and the shame of having no idea how.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Agron said quietly, making a sound that could have been a laugh in another life, but just sounded twisted and sad and choked. “My ma’s always talking about signs and omens and things meant to be and I honestly just thought it was all crap. But - but maybe this is the kind of stuff she means.” He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. “An unmistakable sign from something or someone that this is not what I am supposed to be doing.” 

Nasir’s chest felt hollow. “Are – are you giving up?”

Agron looked torn, but his cheeks flushed red at the accusation in Nasir’s tone. “I can’t work a project if there’s no money left Nasir,” Agron said defensively. “I’ve sunk everything I have into this, there isn’t _anything left_. If I get out now, maybe I can break even, give myself a few hundred dollars for a plane ticket home.” Agron folded his arms uncomfortably across his chest. “Look here, Nasir, I don’t _want_ to give up, if there was a way to do this-”

“Don’t,” Nasir snapped, holding up a hand, fury boiling in his chest. “Don’t talk to me about escaping with your hands clean and some ramen in your pocket. _Fuck_ Agron, this isn’t just about you anymore. It stopped being about you the _second_ you agreed to help this town restore a piece of its history. It stopped being about you the second you hired that fucking crew inside – each and every single one of them is relying on you for this job. I _begged_ some of those assholes to join this project,” Nasir said, his voice steely and low and even. “They gave up decent gigs to work on this because they knew it was important, they all know what this house is to Larkhill.”

“To you, you mean,” Agron said stiffly and Nasir held back the urge to snarl, to throw things and shout, to drown out that voice that was screeching with laughter in the back of his mind, _told you, told you so, told you he wasn’t what you thought. You were right to move on_.

“Don’t you dare hold that against me,” Nasir said quietly. “I told you that story because I wanted you to see what this house could mean to this town again, not to give you ammunition against me.” Agron’s face twisted up into an apology, but Nasir wasn’t ready to hear it. He shook his head, forestalling anything Agron might have come out with. “You have a responsibility here, Agron. Don’t go imagining that if you leave now, there won’t be strings attached.” 

“Nasir, I didn’t mean-” Nasir cut him off. 

“You need to take a minute and decide whether or not you’re going to see this through,” Nasir said fiercely. “I’ll go in to tell everyone we’re done for the day. Let me know when you make your decision.” Nasir started up the front steps, back ramrod straight, fire burning in his cheeks and stomach. He’d thought Agron _got it_ , he had thought Agron _understood_ about the East House, about how much this place could and did mean to the town. It was all he could do to keep moving up towards the house and not turn back and snap at Agron some more. 

“Nasir!” Agron called after him, and Nasir wouldn’t have turned around if not for way Agron sounded utterly _destroyed_. “Nasir, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that – you don’t deserve me heaping this bullshit on you.”

“It’s not all bullshit, Agron,” Nasir sighed, turning back, crossing his arms over his chest. “You have a legitimate reason to be furious and terrified and upset – but you’re letting all that do the talking. This is bigger than just you, Agron, and you know it.” He didn’t let up on his stern glare, even as Agron grew more and more pathetic-looking before his eyes.

“I’m scared as fuck,” Agron admitted, sliding his hands over his face again, hiding his eyes briefly from view as he let out a long breath. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he confessed, “I made the decision to come out here, to do something for myself. I’ve always had a support system in place, I’ve always been surrounded by friends and family – I’ve never risked anything like this before. I’m no adventurer or great mastermind – building houses is really all I’ve ever known.”

“And you’re _good_ at it,” Nasir said, frustrated as hell. “This cowardly bullshit isn’t doing anyone any good in the slightest.”

“I can’t lose everything, Nasir,” Agron argued. “I can’t go back home having failed and just go back to fucking doing nothing. I don’t want to and I _can’t._ Not after-” Agron’s eyes darted from Nasir to the house and back to his hands. “Not after being here. And meeting everyone.”

“Then don’t,” Nasir said, letting himself be drawn back towards Agron, leaning against the wall beside him. “It’s that easy.”

Agron scowled. “It’s anything but _easy_.”

Nasir didn’t back down. “The deciding is,” he said firmly. “The yes or the no – that’s easy. Sticking with it, that’s the hard part.”

“And the part I’m failing right now, you’re saying,” Agron sighed, shoving another hand through his hair. 

“So stop failing,” Nasir said simply. 

Agron eyed him in silence. “And you’ll house me and feed me if I go into bankruptcy over this?” he asked, trying to sound stern but failing, the quirk of his lips doing little to add to the illusion. 

Nasir smiled, letting out a long, breath of relief. “We’ll see.”


	3. how to construct a bookshelf (and find a place to put your baggage)

“He must think I’m so fucking pathetic,” Agron moaned into his laptop camera. “I keep mooning after him like some kid on the playground pulling the pigtails of the girl he likes.” 

“You’re not actually pulling his pigtails, right? Because I know you said he had long hair-“”

“Duro,” Agron said, voice desperate. “Not the time, okay?”

“Sorry,” Duro muttered. “Keep going, I’m listening.” 

“I just, I feel like I’ve been so fucking obvious – maybe he’s been being obvious too, and I haven’t noticed. I just could’ve sworn…”

“Agron,” Duro said firmly, “if he’s not interested, he’s not interested. Just buck up and move the fuck on. So you had sex with him, it’s not a relationship. You can’t be that creep that follows him around, okay? If you’ve been about as obvious as I think you’ve been being, since being your little brother means I do know your-” He gestured wildly here to mean anything from _the way you’re kind of clingy and possessive and a dick_ to _my stomach kind of hurts right now,_ “-style – and he hasn’t responded, then you’ve gotta kind of-”

“Buck the fuck up and stop being a creep.” Agron closed his eyes, a pained look on his face. “I don’t think I’ve been creepy,” he said with a sigh, “But it’s probably verging on that now, isn’t it?” He didn’t have to open his eyes to know that Duro was nodding. 

Agron tended to cling, Duro thought ruefully. He tended to fall – hard and fast – and be very difficult about change, or moving on. His break ups were almost always messy and painful and Agron could fully admit that it was often his fault. He just felt things - really hard. And he was loyal, Duro thought fondly, to an absolute fault. He wasn’t a bad guy, just… _intense_. And Nasir’s loss if he didn’t want to date his brother, _but,_ if Nasir didn’t want to date his brother then that was that. 

“Buck up, _bruder_ ,” Duro said, and Agron opened his eyes to peer at him. “Maybe it’s time to go out and get your mind off of him, yeah?”

“You mean drive forty five minutes to the closest gay bar where I met him? Yeah, I don’t think so.” Agron made a face that Duro was sure deserved a smack and quietly mourned the fact that they were so far away from one another so he couldn’t deliver it straight to the back of Agron’s head.

“ _Or_ maybe just go to a bar,” Duro said snorting, shaking his head, “You know, for like a beer. With _friends_. Surely you’ve made a few of those.”

Agorn huffed, not appreciating Duro’s mocking tone. “Yeah, I think so.” He paused. “I think they’re his too, though.” There was no mistaking who he meant.

“Damn,” Duro whistled. “You fucked it up nice and right, haven’t you? Not even dating and you’re already choosing the same friends.”

“Shut up,” Agron sighed. “I think a couple of them will go out for a beer with me, though.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want to have to beat someone up just to be your friend,” Duro said. He paused, but eventually continued. “Be nice to yourself Agron. I know it didn’t work out, but it doesn’t mean it never will.”

“Shut up,” Agron groaned again, but he was finally smiling again. “You sure you don’t wanna come out here with me? I might need someone in my life that I _know_ actually likes me.”

Duro snorted. “And you know that how?” Agron mimed a broken heart, prompting another laugh out of his little brother. “You know Ma and Pop would flip if I left too, _bruder_.”

Agron made a face. “Guilt trip much, D?”

“Fuck you,” Duro rolled his eyes, “You know that’s not what I meant. Just that I’m trapped here for a little bit longer. But I’m visiting soon, so don’t write me off just yet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Agron said, managing a smile. “All right, I’m tired of your dumb voice. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” Duro said, knocking his knuckles gently against his laptop camera. The call ended a moment later and Agron sighed.

Duro was right, not that he’d ever say it aloud. It was time to move on. Tomorrow he was going to go into work, clear head, clear eyes – and then go out for a beer. That sounded easy.

It sounded nice.

Of course, Agron hadn’t anticipated that Nasir would come in wearing his tightest jeans with hair tucked up into a bun for the first time since that first meeting.

“This fucking sucks,” Agron groaned under his breath. “You have the worst fucking luck _bruder_ ,” he muttered, imagining Duro’s voice instead of his own. “But buck the fuck up and move on. Buck the fuck up,” he chanted under his breath, refocusing. “Buck the fuck up and-”

A second later Crixus’ voice floated up from the first floor. “Yo, Agron, I think it must’ve rained last night. Some of the panels down here are pretty slippery, I think you should-”

As Crixus was talking, Agron stood, wanting to get closer, some of the words not making it up through the layers of paneling and wood they’d put down. “What?” he called back, stepping out into part of the house that had only been partially framed, hands steadying his weight against a panel of the wall. “I heard something about rain, are you-” and when, a moment later, Agron had taken another step forward, he realized _exactly_ what Crixus had been saying. It had rained and the conditions were a little slippery downstairs, which meant that conditions were probably worse upstairs where Agron was currently standing.

 _And_ where Agron was currently falling through.

His boot hadn’t gotten traction against the frame of the floor he’d stepped on. It took all of a second for Agron to tumble right over the side of the house - a solid fifteen-foot drop from one floor to the ground below. Agron instinctively went loose, knowing from a rough and tumble job that tensing up was his worst bet. He hit the ground hard and something _definitely_ jolted in his shoulder as he raised his arms to cover his head – and then everything went dark for a moment.

When he blinked back into existence, he swore up a blue streak, dizzy as all get out, wondering if there was a stampede of elephants coming his way. It took him a solid thirty seconds of staring straight into Crixus’ face that the elephants had probably been his crew running out to him. He tried to turn his neck to see if he was right, but someone was holding him in place.

“Agron, don’t move,” someone said clearly and quickly. “We need to make sure you’re okay.” 

“Fuuck,” Agron groaned.

“I think he’ll be okay,” another dry voice said.

“Shut up Crixus,” someone snapped.

“Agron, what hurts?”

“Fuckin’ shoulder,” Agron grunted. “Don’t think I hit my head, just, _fuck_.”

“You’ve probably dislocated it, or broken your arm,” came a different voice. Female. Mira maybe? Agron’s stomach was roiling and he felt bruised and dead all over.

“Fuck,” He said again, clenching his eyes against the pain. “This - this fucking sucks.”

“Agron, open your eyes.” Agron groaned, but did as he was told and stared right up into Nasir’s face. “Are you seeing double?" 

“No,” Agron said, biting back all of the things that suddenly seemed like a good idea to say. “My head just fucking hurts. It’s definitely my shoulder,” he said, trying to sit up.

“Fuck Agron, don’t move yet, the ambulance is on it’s way.” 

“Oh fuck, “Agron groaned. “We’re going to get so fucking behind.” A thought occurred to him and he groaned even louder. “Oh _fuck_ , Duro’s gonna make so much fun of me.”

Nasir managed a stifled laugh, even though Agron could see he was looking worse for wear and more than a little wide eyed and terrified. “You asshole,” he said quietly, still smiling, “We thought you’d fucking broken your neck.”

“Nope,” Agron said glumly, still grunting at every shift of his body. “Just my fucking shoulder. “ 

“Stop being a wuss,” Saxa said, crouching beside him. “You’ll be fine.” 

“Thanks for the warning, Crixus,” Agron grunted out, “A little too late, I think.”

“Maybe if you’d been fucking listening you wouldn’t have fallen through,” Crixus snapped back.

“Oi, both of you shut the fuck up. Jesus, it’s like a pack of wild children. Can we please just get Agron to the hospital without anymore bickering? Or near fatal accidents?”

“Yes, Dad,” Saxa whined, but Nasir ignored her easily. Agron wasn’t sure if he lost time or if it was just that small of a town, but an ambulance whirred into earshot a half a beat later and half of his crew wandered off to meet it at the bottom of the driveway.

“Well, isn’t this the most impressive thing you’ve ever seen,” Agron said a few minutes later when they were loading him into the ambulance, ignoring the mock tearful goodbyes from his crew who were all standing by the house and acting like they were watching him leave for war.

“Ten out of ten,” Nasir said dimissively, though Agron caught a hint of a smile, “though the Russians scored it a seven.”

“Fucking Russians,” Agron muttered, just to see Nasir’s full grin.

“You coming with, Nasir?” one of the ambulance people asked and it took Agron longer than he cared to admit to realize that Nasir probably wasn’t on a first name basis with every emergency personnel in the town – this was probably a case of growing up together, which Nasir confirmed with a handshake and back pat of the man settling in next to Agron in the back of the ambulance.

“Yeah, Tom, I think so. Let’s get this big lunk to the hospital, all right? In one piece.”

“Greg’s up front,” Tom-the-Ambulance-Guy said, “So, we’ll be just fine.”

“Is that fucking Hakim I hear?” came a voice from the front.

“Hey, Greg,” Nasir said, smiling. “Precious cargo back here, okay? So watch your driving.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

 _Small town assholes_ , Agron thought, but when Nasir started laughing he realized it had been an external thought rather than an internal one. He was having a lot of trouble with those, he thought mournfully. 

“Don’t worry bro,” Tom said, hands deftly but painfully manipulating his shoulder, “You’re becoming one too.”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Agron said dryly. “Now can I get some fucking morphine up in here? Either that, or I’m just gonna pass out from the pain.”

“You go ahead,” Tom said, reaching for a syringe. “I’ve got it from here.”

“Oh, thank fucking god,” Agron sighed with relief, and everything went blissfully, quietly dark. 

- 

“You know, I’ve never seen you run that fast before.” Mira’s voice wasn’t exactly a welcome one. Nasir was sitting outside the room the hospital had assigned to Agron and the doctor had mandated rest while he waited for Agron to come off the morphine long enough to answer some questions.

Nasir had already answered many of those questions. No, Agron wasn’t drunk. No, he hadn’t been playing a sport. No, he didn’t know if Agron had ever had a concussion before. Yeah, he was pretty sure he had insurance. No, he didn’t have the information on hand, you’d have to wait for him for that. Yes, he had a brother, but no, Agron or Nasir would contact him soon.

“What?” Nasir said, though he’d heard Mira perfectly well.

“I’ve never seen you run that fast, kid,” she said again, flopping down beside him in one of the incredibly uncomfortable chairs the hospital had out.

“Do you think it’s on purpose?” he asked automatically in response and Mira looked at him, confused. “The chairs,” he said, tapping pointedly at the arm of his, “That they’re so uncomfortable, I mean. There’s gotta be a reason right? People sit in these for so long, why wouldn’t you get nice chairs?”

“You,” Mira said a moment later, her expression clearing, “Are avoiding talking about it.”

“Talking about what?” Nasir asked, “How fast I ran? I didn’t know that was a direly important topic at hand.”

“The direly important topic at hand,” she said, sounding a little pissed now, “Is that you really like Agron.”

“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” Nasir said tersely.

“You really like Agron,” Mira repeated even more loudly now and Nasir had to fight the urge to shush her. No one was in the hallway. “And you are too fucking scared to do anything about it.”

“That is bullshit,” he said quietly, “and you know it.”

“No, it’s not,” Mira snapped back. “It’s not bullshit. I remember your last relationship, Nasir.”

“Don’t,” he warned her.

“I do,” she said, even more loudly. Nasir was waiting for a nurse to come in and tell them to shut up, but no one appeared. “I remember how fucking horrible it was and how fucking shitty you felt, but there’s more to relationships than how they end.”

“What would you know about that?” Nasir snapped. Mira’s face crumpled for a brief moment and Nasir’s chest swelled up, enough that for a second he lost all feeling in his hands and throat and there weren’t any words he could say to apologize for saying that to Mira, to his best friend in the whole fucking world, shit, fuck, he didn’t- 

“Things end,” Mira said finally, her tone sharp but quieter now. “And I know that better than anyone. But I’m not a fucking coward, so don’t lump me into the same fucking group as _you_ , Nasir.” She got up swiftly and stalked back down the hall.

“Mira,” he called after her, his throat finally working, “Mira, I’m sorry.” She didn’t turn around. “Fuck,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Fuck, shit.” 

“Well, that was pretty fucking shitty of you,” Gannicus said suddenly from nearly right beside him, making Nasir jump as he made for one of the shitty chairs across the hallway.

“Fuck, Gannicus, you asshole,” Nasir hissed. “That was a private conversation, you know.”

“Please,” Gannicus said dismissively, “Mira talks loud enough for the whole fucking world to hear. If Agron wasn’t doped to the gills he’d have heard it too.”

“Yeah, thank god,” Nasir muttered.

“No, _not_ thank god, you two need to get your shit sorted out. And no, I’m not blaming it all on you. I don’t think you’re a coward, Nasir, I just think you’re giving up too soon.” When Gannicus started making sense, Nasir knew that he was in deep fucking trouble. He fought the urge to reply, knowing that would just egg him on, but lost eventually to his own pride.

“There’s nothing to give up on,” Nasir said hotly, “Nothing happened.”

Gannicus cackled unattractively. “Yeah, if you want us to believe that maybe you and Agron should stop looking at each other like you know each other. Biblically. Repeatedly. In the Biblical sense.”

“Like you’ve ever read the Bible.”

“And you have?” Gannicus asked with disbelief. “He who casteth the first stone, or whatever.” Nasir rolled his eyes. “Listen Nasir, I like Agron, he seems like a nice enough guy. You don’t want to date him, fine. But I think we both know that’s kind of fucking bullshit. Step your game up. Ask him out.”

“And if he’s not interested?”

“Then he’s not interested.” Gannicus looked like he was about a millisecond from rolling his eyes. “He’s not gonna tear your heart out and eat it. People usually leave the kinky shit for later.” He winked and Nasir fought the urge to strangle him.

“God, you’re such a douchebag,” Nasir said, laughing a little incredulously. Gannicus shrugged. 

“Considering the shit I just saw, I'm not the only one in the room." Nasir glared at him, but shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Just calling it like I see it. She'll forgive you,” Gannicus assured Nasir, like Nasir didn't know that already - Mira forgave too easily. She never forgot, but she left herself far too wide open to hurt. In a day or two, when Nasir apologized again she would forgive him - but she wouldn't too soon forget his words. Though, to be fair, Nasir wouldn't forget them any time in the near future either. Gannicus shrugged. "Think about it." He too disappeared down the hall the way Mira had gone. 

Nasir sighed. “Get yourself together,” he said to himself, finally standing from his uncomfortable seat. “It’s not the end of the world.”

It kind of felt like it, though.

-

Honestly, the hardest part of recovering from his concussion was not the near constant headache, or the shortness of breath, or the occasional nausea he felt – but convincing his crew that _one_ , it was okay that he sat around his own worksite and supervised, and _two_ , that when he was finally free of the hold of his concussion that he was _absolutely_ allowed to go have a beer to celebrate.

He’d done hardly anything since entering the hospital a few days earlier and he found himself particularly frustrated by the amount of attention Nasir was giving him.

“I was trying to get over him,” Agron promised Duro via their now daily Skype call, which had increased in occurrence directly after Agron’s release from the hospital. “I fucking swear I was. At least, I meant to, and then, y’know-”

“You fell out of your house,” Duro said in that same fucking know-it-all tone that he’d been using for the past week or so, whenever Agron referenced his accident.

“Yes, since I fucking fell out of my house,” Agron said, huffing a sigh. “That day I went in, I was gonna do it.”

“What, get over the guy you’ve been mooning over the past few months? In a day?” Duro sounded less than convinced. He was making a face that made Agron want to throw something at him.

“I was gonna _start_ ,” Agron said, trying not to sound like he was whining. Duro gave him a disgusted look and he knew he’d failed.

“Well, I’d wish you continuing luck on that front, but it seems like you’ve given in,” Duro said, his tone as dry as the cookies NOBA forced Agron to eat every time they met with him about his progress.

“I haven’t given up on giving up,” Agron said, “I just, I don’t get it.” He flopped backwards onto his bed, his voice nearly muffled by the hands he’d dropped onto his face. “I thought, I thought he wasn’t interested. He made it pretty clear-”

“Yeah, and then you fell out of a fucking house, Agron,” Duro said, huffing a laugh. “I mean, I love you, and I was worried fucking sick for like, a whole minute – but Nasir probably got his head out of his ass and realized, y’know, that he fucking _likes_ _you_.” 

Agron grunted. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“When have I ever said anything just to be nice to you?” Duro asked, sounding outraged. “Like, remind me, and I will take it back instantly.”

“Y’think?” Agron asked, lifting one of his hands to peek at the screen where Duro was staring at him with a look Agron found extremely familiar. It was _you are a fucking idiot Agron_ and Agron knew enough to know that Duro meant business. “So you think I should-”

“I think you should,” Duro said firmly. “Go out, get a beer with your friends, and his friends. And him. Make it clear you’re into him. Like, _say it_. Give him the chance to reject you, to just walk away from it, none of your… bullshit,” he said, terming Agron’s emotional ineptitude in as polite a fashion as he could. “And then you’ll know, all right? If he says no, he says no. If he doesn’t, well, you’re having a beer with the guy. I think you can take it from there.”

“Yeah, but if he says no-”

“Then he says no, Agron,” Duro said firmly.

“Yeah,” Agron said, lungs tight. There was a long pause. “D’you think he’ll say no?”

Duro huffed a laugh. “Y’know what, Agron? You’re the luckiest son of a bitch-”

“Don’t talk about our mother like that,” Agron interrupted. 

“You’re the luckiest fucking asshole I’ve ever known,” Duro continued on, like Agron had never spoken. “If there were anyone to get the dude of their dreams by falling out of fucking house, it’d be you.”

“That may have been the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Agron said after a second.

Duro laughed. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”


	4. how to build a closet (and stay the fuck out of it)

It took, Agron thought, way too long to convince his crew to get a beer with him one night in celebration of being concussion free for two whole days, which – _yes, Mira_ – meant he was totally okay to have a beer. The crew agreed that he was allowed on site for the latter half the day. “Oh, how kind of you,” Agron had said over the phone as Auctus informed him of the terms, “Letting me onto my own fucking worksite. You’re all too nice.”

“Hey, take it or leave it. Nasir’s running the show now and he’s the one saying we can’t let you back on until you’re probably not going to kill yourself again.” 

“Yeah well, you can tell him that-”

“Tell him yourself,” Auctus said bluntly, “You’ll see him this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Agron grumbled. “But I’ll probably forget by then,” he admitted and Auctus laughed.

“It’s probably better that way. We’re all way more scared of him than you.” Agron didn’t really blame them, to be fair, considering that under Nasir’s strict overseeing, the afternoon was fairly uneventful – except, of course, for the way that whenever Agron made a move to contribute anything to the crew, Nasir was there to shove him back down into his seat. 

“Nothing strenuous,” he reminded him nearly every thirty seconds.

“Nasir, I don’t have a concussion anymore,” Agron said, laughing by the third time it happened. “And fuck, we need to get you a bell or something, you can’t go sneaking around like that. It’s like a lethal fucking weapon.” Nasir looked caught off balance, a half smile on his lips, even as he tried to look fierce and firm. 

“You’re not getting hurt again, we need your head.” Agron tried not to look any deeper into that.  
  
“As hard as it is,” Agron said, “I guarantee you I’m okay. Now c’mon, time to get off work, time to get a beer. You agreed.” 

“Oh, _yeah_ ,” Nasir said, looking anywhere but at Agron and Agron felt his hopes drop all at once. “I was thinking, maybe-”

“He’d fucking love to come,” Mira said politely, coming up behind him and wrapping an arm around Nasir’s shoulders. “He’s just worried because, y’know, we all look like shit.” 

Agorn eyed Nasir uncertainly, but as the seconds ticked by and Nasir didn’t object to Mira’s words, Agron decided he’d let it go. “I don’t think we’re planning on going anywhere fancy though, I guess we could go – well, hell, I dunno. Where could we go?”

“There’s a bar or two that’s got, y’know, a better atmosphere than the others,” Mira said, eyeing Nasir who was staring at his clipboard like there was something there he hadn’t already read a thousand times. “But for that, we’d all have to have time to go home and change. As long as sounds okay, boss.”

“I haven’t been calling the shots around here for awhile,” Agorn said ruefully, smiling nonetheless, “I think it’s up to Nasir, don’t you?”

Mira grinned, “I think you’re right.”

Nasir looked like he wanted to gleefully murder Mira, but he swallowed hard and shrugged. “Yeah, I think there’s a bar or two we could go to.” 

“Great,” Mira chirped and wandered away to tell the rest of the crew. 

“You don’t,” Agron started, before stopping – remembering how many times before he’d shoved his foot in his mouth. “I guess, ah, I wouldn’t want you to think,” Agron said slowly, “That if you didn’t want to come, that you’d have to come.” Nasir was looking at him curiously, but didn’t look like he wanted to strangle Agron - yet. “I want you there,” he said slowly, “In case that wasn’t obvious, but you don’t have to come. Mira did kind of force you into it.”

Nasir’s face was inscrutable. “If you want me there,” he said finally, drawing the words out, “Then I want to be there.”

“Good,” Agron said, sounding a little confused, but knowing that ultimately his goal of spending more time with Nasir had succeeded. That would have to be enough for the time being. “Then I, um, I guess I’ll meet you tonight.”

“I guess so,” Nasir said, offering a tight, nervous looking smile.

-

When night fell, Agron quickly realized that he’d probably made a huge mistake. He certainly did not have appropriate club gear, but that didn’t mean that Nasir didn’t. And that everyone else didn’t. They all looked like models, though Agron hadn’t expected any less. Nasir was another story all together – he looked a lot like that night they’d first met and Agron was having a rough time with the cognitive dissonance. _This_ Nasir (who he knew better and liked and admired and appreciated more than the _Other_ Nasir) was not to be touched or kissed or any of those things that Agron had once done with the _Other_ Nasir, who – though beautiful – was _nothing_ compared to the real Nasir.

Needless to say, Agron felt distinctly underdressed next to all of them. “Are they even going to let me in?” he joked, thought he was mostly serious. Saxa took one look at him and blew a raspberry. 

“You fucking kidding me? Of course they are. The bouncers will probably pay you to come in considering the little fanclub you’ve picked up while we’ve been waiting.”

Mira laughed as she turned around and spotted several young women eyeing Agron hungrily, obvious and giggling about it. They looked like they were having fun so Agron smiled winningly in their direction and they cracked into peals of laughter.

“You know if you flashed them some abs along with that smile,” Mira said slyly, “They’d probably pay your way in.” 

“As gratifying as it is to know that you’re willing to sell Agron’s body,” Nasir said, his tone dry as a bone, “I think it’s time we head into the bar now?” He pointed as Crixus, Naevia and Auctus disappeared inside past the bouncers. 

“Thanks for the save,” Agron said, a moment later, ducking in behind Nasir.

“No problem,” he said quietly, “Can’t leave you to the sharks.” Agron was about to say something about equating Mira and Saxa to sharks was being mean to the ocean dwellers, but the bar inside caught his attention.

“Drink?” Agron asked over the thumping beat, ducking his head low to nearly press his lips against Nasir’s ear. Nasir’s hand caught briefly in Agron’s shirt, to steady himself in the crush of the crowd, Agron thought, before letting go. 

“Yes, please,” Nasir called back, his face too close for Agron to be able to read his expression.

“I’ll be right back,” Agron said, even as something in him chanted _run run run as fast and as far away as you can_ because he could see how it would be all too easy to bare his fucking soul and get stomped in return, how much just being around Nasir made him want to get down on his knees and think _there’s a lot of fucked up shit I would do to know if you wanted me back._  

But priorities were priorities – first, alcohol.

- 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Duro’s voice repeating. A _beer,_ Agron, **one** _beer. Maybe two_. But that voice sounded distant and floaty and kind of fuzzy, because right now Agron was _definitely_ more than a beer into his night. He was like, _multiple_ beers in. Like, a lot of beers in. He wasn’t drinking alone though, like some pathetic… alone drinker. He was in a club! With his friends. Not that he was really, genuinely sure where his friends were, but he assumed they were around. He was pretty sure he could see Crixus and Naevia on the dance floor. And Auctus was somewhere watching the crowd, probably. Mira and Saxa were dancing together and laughing. Agron smiled. He liked that they were laughing.

His attention was very quickly drawn away from the crowd by a sound at his side. He made a questioning noise in response and turned to glance down at Nasir, who had his face propped up on one fist, looking a bit sloppier than how he’d started the night out. His hair, which he’d pulled back neatly earlier, was looking a bit frazzled and Agron remembered at some point offering to braid it. Instead, Nasir shoved it up into a messy bun, which, Agron thought, was probably better than the braid. “Did you say something?” Agron said, for maybe the second time, or third. He didn’t really remember.

“I said,” Nasir said, his teeth snapping on the ‘d.’ “I still don’t know if you want me here.” 

“That’s _dumb_ ,” Agron said fondly, “That’s like - really, _really_ dumb.”

“That’s what Mira said,” Nasir said, leaning his head on his fist, looking perturbed. “And I don’t get why? It’s like, I’m not a _dumb_ person.”

“No no no nononono.” Agron liked the sound of that tripping off his tongue, “Nonono. _You’re_ not dumb. Me not wanting you around is a dumb idea. And you should know that.”

“But _how_ should I know that?” Nasir asked, waving a hand wildly. “You don’t tell me anything, like _ever_.”

“Like, like, feelings? Tell you feelings?” Agron felt kind of confused. He didn’t like it very much.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Nasir breathed, in a tone of voice that made Agron feel a little bit dumb. He didn’t like that either. “Feelings, like _yours_. So, like, I could tell you mine.”

“You have feelings?” Agron said, blinking, sounding like he’d very much just suddenly had a revelation. “About _me_?”

“There… are feelings,” Nasir said primly and Agron suddenly got excited.

“Like, good feelings?” He asked, sidling in closer and nudging his head closer to Nasir’s, whose eyes went a little cross eyed trying to keep his gaze focused on Agron.

“I don’t know,” Nasir let the words draw out in his mouth and Agron was fascinated by the way his lips moved around the sounds. “What are _your_ feelings about _me_?” Agron made a face.

“Do I hafta say ‘em?” he asked, letting his fingers draw shapes in the condensation from the beer glasses and bottles all over the table. “I’ve just been like, shoutin’ ‘em at you for like, weeks,” he said glumly. “I’d feel kind of dumb doing it again.”

There was a hard punch to his shoulder. “Ow,” he squawked, “What the hell?” He stared pitifully at Nasir, who was glaring fiercely at him.

“What do you mean you’ve been _yelling_ them?” Nasir asked, beer bottle in one hand, other clenched in a fist as if prepared to hit Agron again if his answer didn’t measure up. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You,” Agron said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Dude-”

“Don’t call me dude,” Nasir interrupted, and Agron gave him a look.

“ _Dude_ ,” he repeated, looking sullen, “I’m fucking head over ass for you and you fucking keep brushing me off and Duro said I should just _tell_ you, but like, I’ve been _telling you_ -” 

“You have not,” Nasir said, affronted beyond belief, “You’ve been just fucking flirting.”

“Yeaaah,” Agron said, eyes wide, mouth gaping open, “Like, _hello_.” 

“You flirted with _everyone_ ,” Nasir said a little desperately, flapping his hand wildly and nearly spilling beer on Agron. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed and his gaze shifted a little as he tried to focus in on Agron a little. “Like, _everyone_ ,” he repeated testily.

“Have not,” Agron said, though he wasn’t sure that was necessarily true. It just sounded like something he should deny. “But like, it was different with you." 

“I couldn’t tell,” Nasir sighed.

“Like, _so_?” Agron said, “I fucking told you, now you have to tell me. Your feelings. About me.” Nasir stared at him and for a second everything shifted into place. Some of the fuzziness around Agron’s brain disappeared and he saw Nasir just as he was – tired and anxious and beautiful and happy and smiling, and leaning closer all the while.

“I like you too,” he said, a small smile quirking his lips. 

“Like, _like me,_ like me?” Agron said, even as an obnoxious smirk bloomed across his lips.

“Yes, you fucking dick,” Nasir said, happiness creaking through his bones even as he attempted to maintain a fierce glare. “I _like you,_ like you. I have no fucking clue why though.”

“It’s a mystery of nature,” Agron said grandly, beaming, flashing his dimples like mad. “Can I fucking kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Nasir said, following it up with the honest: “I’ll probably hit you if you don’t.” With that, Nasir tugged Agron down, the hand that was wrapped around his beer bottle now slightly cool and damp against Agron’s neck, his lips chapped and warm against Agron’s soft, slack mouth. The kiss was teasing and light and almost frustrating in its innocence, but Agron was sure he could not have handled a single iota more than what Nasir gave him. His breathing was labored, his pulse racing, his eyes half-lidded – anything more intense than the soft, exchange of air between their lips and tongues and Agron’s knees might have buckled straight away. 

“Wouldn’t want that,” Agron said gruffly when they pulled away, his eyes flickering between Nasir’s eyes and lips. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away, not when all he could think about was the warmth in his chest and the buzz in his bones and the familiar feel of Nasir’s cheek against his. “Wanna go somewhere?” His voice was hoarse, like he’d raked it over the coals burning in his throat, everything in him aching to be closer to Nasir.

“I,” Nasir’s response was no more than a puff of air, but Agron could see the worry in the furrow of his brow. “I want to,” he said finally, the words dragged slowly from out between his teeth by his lips, “But I’m really drunk. I don’t want this,” his hand pressed against Agron’s chest, the thumb brushing gently across Agron’s collarbone lighting up nerves Agron didn’t know he had, “I don’t want this to get fucked up because we had sex while drunk.”

Agron nods firmly, “I just want to be near you,” he said, sliding a hand further up past Nasir’s hand and wrist, calloused fingers drawing swirls and shapes on the hot skin on the inside of Nasir’s arms. “I was thinking we’d go to the house.” 

Agron saw almost immediately the light behind Nasir’s eyes flash, an eager grin splitting his lips. “Yes,” he murmured, half lurching out of his chair in his desire, Agron’s arms catching him before he fell. “The house, please. I want to be there with you.”

Nasir hardly remembered the pieces between leaving the bar and hailing a cab and getting to the East House, though it had very little to do with the alcohol in his system. His concern was first and foremost with Agron’s lips on his, with his hands settling firmly and familiarly along Nasir’s cheek and neck and back and ass, drawing him close, pulling him in to brush noses or breathe the same smoke curled air. The cabbie charged them almost double for having to deal with their drunken make outs and ecstatic gigglefits, but Nasir barely managed to drum up the slightest amount of anger over the injustice. It felt like mere moments before Agron’s arm was around his shoulder, drawing him out of the car and up the wide, sloping hill of grass.

The moonlight was brighter than Nasir could remember in recent history, the treetops doing little to keep the pair of them shaded from its light. Soon they reached the top of the hill, where the house sat, just as it always had – the same wide warm façade, the same deep, ancient steps.

“Here,” Agron said, tugging Nasir’s hand, guiding him over to a spot on the hill lit so brightly by the moon that Nasir wondered for a half moment if he’d been mistaken and his phone’s clock read two in the afternoon and not two in the morning. “Here,” Agron repeated, tugging off his jacket and spreading it out, wide enough for two bodies to squeeze in beside one another if they pressed close enough. 

Nasir was willing to try. 

He remembered laying beneath the moon, the East House at his head, Agron’s body like a space heater and pillow all at once. He remembered laughing at the lack of stars and at Agron’s tirade about ungrateful historians who couldn’t appreciate a romantic gesture when they saw one. He remembered kissing Agron, a lot.

And the last thing he remembered were the soft words, “Still glad,” before sleep caught him.


	5. how to knock down a load bearing wall (and all the walls you put up around your issues)

When they woke the next morning, it was not to a beautiful sunrise or soft birdsong – it was to the noise of gravel crunching beneath the wheels of what sounded like a ridiculously large SUV coming up the lengthy, unpaved driveway. Nasir watched blearily through the grass as a massive tank of a car pulled into view, the ugly beige color that reminded him stupidly of the horrible boat of a truck that Amanda Pendleton drove around.

Until it registered that that _was_ the ugly ass boat of a car belonging to Amanda Pendleton, President of the Larkhill Community Council and Head Pissy Biddy and then Nasir was scrambling to get off the dew soaked ground and far, far away. He managed to accidentally plant an elbow into Agron’s sternum and he started awake as well, gasping for air even as his hands came up to grab Nasir’s shoulders.

“Wha-fuck?” he garbled out and Nasir froze as the sound of car doors slamming echoed across the yard.

“NOBA,” he hissed, “Amanda Pendleton and her fucking claw hands and I’m not even wearing underwear.”

Agron went pale and then a horrible, sickly shade of green before blinking rapidly and staring somewhere in the general vicinity of Nasir’s crotch. “You’re not wearing underwear?” he croaked and Nasir gave into the urge to flick him on the nose. 

“Not the problem,” he snapped, tugging fruitlessly at Agron’s dead weight. “We have to get the fuck out of here before they see us all hungover and half dead – you will literally never work in this town again if they find us.”

 _That_ finally spurred Agron into action and he scooped his jacket off the ground and snatched Nasir’s hand up in his own and darted a quick, desperate gaze around – if Amanda Pendleton and her crew of surveyors or spies or whatever the hell they were came around too far to the opposite side of the house, he and Agron would have no place at all to hide.

“We can’t stand, they’ll definitely see us,” Nasir hissed, looking like he was about to lose it.

“We’ll have to roll,” Agron said seriously and Nasir stared at him, not willing to believe those words had left his mouth. “I’m not kidding,” he insisted, “if we roll down this side of the hill, we can hide from them and then walk the long way back to the main road and they’ll never see us.”

“We are not _rolling down the hill_ -” Nasir started furiously, but the sound of voices silenced him and Agron raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

“We have no choice,” Agron breathed, snatching one last biting kiss from Nasir’s mouth before flopping backwards and slapping his arms and legs to the ground. “We’ll always have East House,” he said dramatically, before flipping himself over and starting the painfully awkward process of rolling down the hill. A half second later, Agron’s momentum was carrying him rapidly down the side and he’d hit the bottom within five seconds.

He looked alive, but Nasir wasn’t taking any bets.

“Let’s walk around the other side,” he heard Amanda’s shrill voice echoing across the yard. “I want to see what they’ve done with the windows.”

“Fuck,” Nasir groaned to himself, before flopping backwards and throwing himself down the hill as well. Each bump and bruise made him hiss in pain, but he couldn’t deny – except to Agron, and for the rest of time – that the escape was efficient and the tiniest bit fun. Especially when he came to a stop by flopping on top of a prone Agron, who was wheezing and biting down hard on his hand to keep from breaking into hysterical laughter. “I hate you-” Nasir gasped, “So fucking much.” 

“No, you don’t,” Agron whispered cheerfully, still wheezing slightly. “C’mon, let’s get walking. We can take our time.” He stood and then offered a hand to Nasir, who was grimly pressing at the spots where he knew he’d be black and blue come that afternoon.

“Except we have to make it back to town before they do,” Nasir pointed out, even as he took Agron’s hand to help himself up. “Because if they leave here before we get there they’ll see us walking and we won’t have anywhere to hide.” 

Agron stared at the long, empty stretch of road, his expression turning glum before he heaved a sigh and slapped a big grin onto his lips. “Ready to run back to town then?” he asked, looking dashing and charming and all the things Nasir hated about him right now.

“No,” Nasir sighed heavily, “But fine. You go first. I want a nice view if I’m going to kill myself running.” 

They started their hungover and bruised morning jog on the sound of Agron’s cackling.

-

It was about twenty minutes later that they tumbled into the diner, Nasir almost wholly relying on Agron to keep his balance as they both gasped with laughter. Nasir could hardly catch his breath, his throat tight with delight and terror – they’d seen Amanda Pendleton’s car just as they made it into town and Nasir had realized that if spotted, they’d inevitably have to speak to her intelligently about the project and that was not something either of them had been willing to do while hungover. “That was all your fault,” he rasped out, his fingers wrapped in the hem of Agron’s shirt, pulling gently. “We did _not_ have to run this last bit.”

“I know,” Agron said cheekily, “But I wanted to see your ass move in those jeans,” he murmured, the words only for Nasir’s ears.

“You boys planning on sitting?” The voice belonged to Miss Hannah, who had owned Al’s Diner so long that she was now the only living human in town who remembered the original Al it was named after. Nasir’s fingers unclenched from their grip on Agron’s shirt as he belatedly remembered that this was his hometown and everyone and their brother and mother and Great Auntie Edith knew everything about him. 

“Yes ma’am,” Nasir murmured, looking sheepish and feeling twelve years old at the oldest. “May we have the corner booth?” Miss Hannah eyed them in that knowing, piercing way she had – but Agron’s docile puppy eyes must have convinced her that they weren’t up to no good, because she brushed them away dismissively and returned to manning the register.

“After you,” Agron rumbled, startling Nasir with how close Agron had managed to get without him realizing.

“Shut up,” Nasir hissed, as Agron started snickering. He flung his arm back to catch Agron in the stomach before walking – in as poised a fashion as he could manage, still a little breathless and a lot hungover – to the corner booth. Agron followed close on his heels, his warmth tangible even through the layers of clothing they were both wearing. 

Once seated, it took only a moment for Agron to beg the closest passing waitress for the largest containers of coffee they were legally allowed to serve and then only a few minutes more for the entire wait staff of Al’s to be utterly charmed by the giant asshole. Their breakfast together was short and bare bones – neither of them felt particularly moved to consume any food in the near future – but there were an awful lot of knees pressing together and hands occasionally brushing as plates were passed from one to the other.

“More business awaits,” Agron sighed as he glanced at his phone, dropping his napkin onto the table. He eyed Nasir in a way that made Nasir want to drag him back to his house and lock the deadbolt for a week at least. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Nasir was nodding even before he’d swallowed his last bite of eggs. “Yeah,” he replied, biting his lip and leaning forward across the table, letting his fingers drop on top of Agron’s as if accidentally. He traced a line down Agron’s pinky, trying not to smile like a complete idiot. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Agron stared at him, mouth slightly parted as he watched Nasir’s hand move over his own. “Fuck,” he swore, lifting his free hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched shut tightly. “You are the fucking worst. I’m leaving now before I never fucking move again.”

They didn’t kiss goodbye, and Nasir was the tiniest bit relieved even as he was regretting not taking every fucking chance he was now allowed to taste and touch Agron. It was better that way though, considering half the diner was filled with the grandparents of people Nasir went to high school with and half the people working at the diner had seen Nasir go through the most awkward periods of his life – including every single date he’d ever been on. Larkhill was not exactly known as a popular date destination, so the diner was the only choice for any broke teenagers getting dinner together.

So Agron left and Nasir watched him go, his eyes following his form down the sidewalk, settling fondly on the tight jeans encasing that perfect ass that had felt pretty damn good in his hands last night. In fact, he wondered if- 

“Nasir,” the voice that startled him out of his Agron induced reverie was familiar in a terrifying way. Nasir’s eyes opened wide and his mouth defaulted into a fixed, wide smile, shaded with stunned horror. He’d just been thinking about sex within a foot of Miss Majorie. He was almost ninety-five percent positive that was an instant ticket in a private hand basket straight to hell.

“Miss Marjorie,” he said slowly as the old woman paused beside his table, unsure if he should shake her hand or stand to hug her. 

“Oh no, pumpkin,” she said sweetly, “Don’t you stand for a little old lady like me.” Which was little old lady code for _boy, you best come kiss me on the cheek like a gentleman._ So Nasir awkwardly stood, stooped over his table and slightly off balance because of the booth bench pressing into his calves. He leaned over and buffed a kiss to each of Miss Marjorie’s cheeks and invited her to sit across from him. “I’m just here to stop by and tell you how wonderful I think the Old East House is looking.” Even Nasir’s hangover couldn’t dim the smile that spread across his face at those words. Until this very moment, Nasir would’ve said Miss Marjorie was one of the worst offenders of what Agron was calling PBS – or Pissy Biddy Syndrome.

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it,” Nasir said, smiling. “I’ve been really happy with all the work Agron’s been doing, and the crew, and everyone’s been so supportive, especially-” Nasir had to swallow the word NOBA and somehow come up with, “The Council.”

“Yes of course,” Miss Marjorie said, smiling back at him, looking for all the world like she couldn’t be happier. “Yes, you know, they have done excellent work,” she said, and there was an awkward pause that Nasir wasn’t quite sure how to interpret.

“Yeah, yes,” he said again, slowly, his smile faltering. 

“I just, you know, I’m so disappointed to hear about Mr. Schmidt,” she said, her tone confiding, though her volume dropped no lower than it had been. 

“What, ah, I’m sorry,” he said, furrowing his brow slightly and ducking his head forward, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” In his head all the worst case scenarios flooded through – _he’s sick. He’s dying. He’s leaving._

Miss Marjorie placed a pale, thin old hand on one of Nasir’s own and tsk’d. “Oh, I only just heard myself. He’s selling the old East House, to some big corporation, who’ll turn it into some fancy resort, I’m sure.”

“What.” Nasir’s face was blank. Of all the things he’d thought could have been the problem with Agron, _that_ had not even appeared on the list.

“No, I’m sorry Miss Marjorie, but you must be mistaken,” Nasir said as pleasantly as he could manage. “Agron wouldn’t see, he just, wouldn’t – he loves the Old East House. He loves it here,” he assured her, capturing her hand in both of hers. “He’s staying, you don’t have anything to worry about.” Nasir heard his own voice and wondered if repeating it meant it was true. He sounded uncertain to even his own ears.

“Oh no, darling,” Miss Marjorie said, still smiling like Nasir’s hands weren’t shaking around hers. “I’m afraid it’s true, I heard it from the other ladies. In fact, oh my goodness, that’s him there. And that must be the buyer-” _It was like a bad movie_ , Nasir thought, turning and expecting to see something, _anything_ , that wasn’t Agron standing nearly in the middle of the street, paused beside a mailbox set into one of the many tiny traffic islands that broke up the downtown’s main drag. He and another man, tall and handsome-looking but too far away to see clearly, in a blazer and suit pants, were holding together a sheaf of papers. They were both smiling.

“Miss Marjorie, I - I’m sure you’re wrong.” 

“Oh, and there he goes! Signing away,” Miss Marjorie said, her tone gleeful even as Nasir’s eyes widened. It was true – Agron had pressed the papers to the mailbox and was scribbling away, pen in hand. He grinned at them and tucked them away, offering his hand to the other man, who shook it gladly. They both beamed at one another and Nasir mouthed wordlessly.

Miss Marjorie tsk’d. “And to think, I thought he was such a good boy.” She seemed much more pleased over the idea of juicy gossip than horrified at the idea that some stranger had come and taken away their town’s oldest landmark. 

“I’m sure it’s, uh,” Nasir paused for a long second, his gaze still attached to Agron and the other man who had strode away, the man’s hand resting on Agron’s shoulder. He blinked. “I- I’m sorry Miss Marjorie, but I have to go.”

“All right dear,” she said agreeably, watching Nasir stumble out of his booth, miraculously not faceplanting. “You come by sometime all right? I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

“Sure thing,” Nasir said distractedly, slapping down some money by the register and tearing out of there, his chest too tight to let air in. _No_ , he though wildly, no. This wasn’t possible. Agron wouldn’t sell the East House. He loved it. He knew Nasir loved it, more than anything. _But he’d wanted to leave_ , a voice in Nasir’s mind said. _He’d wanted to leave and go home. He misses his brother, he misses his family. He only stayed because you guilted him into it._

“But we just,” Nasir murmured to himself as he stumbled through his shortcut home, past the barber shop, between the grocery store and the bookstore, down the alley that led by the two blue dumpsters, but then opened up quickly onto Green St, where he could cut through the park. The familiar landmarks and muscle memory of the walk home helped Nasir steady his breathing. _But we just figured it out,_ Nasir thought, hands fumbling for his keys. _We just figured our shit out. He wouldn’t._

“He wouldn’t,” he repeated aloud, as he finally got into his own house, shutting and locking the door behind him and dropping his key in the tiny bowl where they always went. He felt his phone buzz and he dug it out with nerveless fingers, laughing a little when he saw the text was from Agron. He swiped it open and muffled a swear.

_Exciting news to tell u tmrw! This is gonna change everything :)_

“Stupid fucking smiley face, stupid fucking asshole.” Nasir tossed his phone into the kitchen not caring where it landed. “Fucking,” he swore again, shaking with anger. “I can’t believe-”

Nasir wasn’t sure what he wanted to do first – storm over to Agron’s, tell him off for ruining everything, or take a shower, or eat something, or – have another drink, even though his head was pounding. His migraine won out and he swallowed a few Advil before collapsing into bed. When he woke up, _when he felt more human,_ he promised himself, he’d go give Agron a piece of his mind. _Fucking asshole_ , he thought as he dozed off, his fingers trembling with fury and heartbreak.

Upon waking and guzzling about a gallon of water to counteract the incredible and rather impressive case of dehydration he’d inflicted upon himself, Nasir decided to let himself lay in bed for another few minutes to continue contemplating just how terrible everything was and just how little he wanted to deal with it all.

Eventually, Nasir had to give up on lying in bed and proceed to the next part of his day – driving to the worksite and confronting Agron. The thought made him sick to his stomach even as his blood boiled in fury – _not_ Old East, not that house.

He didn’t dare think about him and Agron.

Agron was waiting for him by the edge of the driveway when Nasir pulled up in his beat up Honda. Stunned almost to the point of inaction, Nasir took a moment to just stare through his front window at Agron, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, wide smile aimed at Nasir and his car. “This is an alternate universe,” Nasir said calmly aloud to himself, as he reached over to grab his bag and clipboard. “He is _not_ just waiting for me like nothing is wrong.” 

But when Nasir finally exited his car and started up the gravel driveway, the mirage shaped like Agron didn’t disappear. Agron’s smile just widened, his ridiculous dimples deepening. “Hi,” he said simply, rocking up on his toes before settling back on his heels.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” was the first thing out of Nasir’s mouth, through no thought or action of his own. But as soon as the words tumbled out, he barreled right on through. “I am honestly fucking bewildered by your nerve, how dare you – how dare you show your fucking face right now, here, of all places." 

Agron’s utterly stunned expression only served to fuel the fire in Nasir’s chest.

“What – Nasir, I – what the hell?” Agron barely got the words out of his mouth before Nasir barreled on.

“Selling this place,” Nasir snapped, gesturing wildly, enough so that his clipboard tumbled out of his hands. He didn’t make a move to go pick it up – all the lists and work on it would be useless now anyway. “Selling Old East House, signing it away after all the work you’ve put in, that _we’ve_ put in.” 

Agron’s brow furrowed, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, sounding more than a little anxious. “Nasir, I haven’t sold anything, I wouldn’t–”

“I literally watched you sign the contract Agron,” Nasir talked over him, his hands shaking even as he pretended his voice was as steady as he wished it would be. “I can’t – I thought you understood about this place.” Nasir was horrified to realize that he felt a burning behind his eyes – and immediately resolved never to give in to the feeling because that was absolute _bullshit_. “You know how much it means to me. Fuck, I’ve never even told anyone else about that stupid story about the kids.” Nasir pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“No,” Agron snapped, “You’re not stupid, but I’ve literally got no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” 

“The Council apparently has known that you’ve meant to sell this place,” Nasir grit out, “Miss Marjorie cornered me at the diner yesterday, told me the whole thing, made me watch as you signed that fucking contract with that corporate douchebag in the middle of the fucking street – did you just think I wouldn’t find out?” he snapped, crossing his arms and staring up at the house, too angry to even look at Agron just then.

“Nasir,” Agron said urgently, a little desperately, though his tone was as even as he could manage. “Nasir, I would _never_ fucking sell this place. Not ever, not in a million years. Well,” he amended, his voice heavy, “Not if it wasn't to you. I swear.” He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes intent, his mouth twisted into a nervous frown.

 

It was the way Agron was staring at him that made him give pause. Nasir stared back, his thoughts frozen, his brain skipping like an old record player. “You... wouldn't,” he said, his voice weak.  
  
“No.” On this, Agron's voice was steel.  
  
“You signing that paper,” Nasir said, his voice steady even if nothing else about him was. “That man, that was...?”  
  
“That corporate douchebag was my brother Duro,” Agron said, sounding exhausted and embarrassed and a little sheepish all at once, his voice the tone of a person delivering Christmas presents after all of their contents have been spoiled. “Dressed up for maybe the first time in his life. He's going to help me run this place. I've been asking him to come out here since the start.”  
  
“You've missed him a lot,” Nasir said quietly, trying not to remember how easily he’d turned that against Agron in his mind, how he’d used Agron’s homesickness as yet another condemnation of his character.  
  
“Yeah,” Agron said, rubbing his neck. “And he came out here as a surprise and he'd had this contract drawn up and everything,” Agron's voice was building with excitement. “And he's always been way better with business and financial stuff than me, he'll wrote half of the grants for this place and-” Agron paused, catching Nasir's gaze. “And so we’re going to be business partners. That was my news,” he said softly.  
  
Nasir was stricken, voice caught somewhere low in his chest, like he'd swallowed it down to keep all of his useless, stupid apologies from pouring out. He wondered if he’d ever stop feeling sick to his stomach with all of the horrible things he’d thought of Agron at the slightest prompting  
  
“It looked like-” Nasir tried, but that just sounded like an excuse, so he stopped.  
  
“It must have looked bad,” Agron admitted, looking a little worn and more than a little guilty. “And I haven't really given you reason to trust me to stay.”  
  
“No, no,” Nasir was shaking his head before Agron's mouth had even formed its last vowel. “You're wrong Agron,” he said firmly, “You have, you absolutely have, I just wasn't willing to trust my instinct about you. And that is no one’s fucking fault but my own.”  
  
“If you think about it, it's Miss Marjorie's fault,” Agron argued, loyal to the very last. “It wouldn't have even occurred to you-”  
  
“You're giving her too much credit,” Nasir sighed, but he was smiling nonetheless – how the hell did the asshole do it? “And you think I'm a far better person than I am.”  
  
“I think you are exactly the kind of person that you are,” Agron said stubbornly. “As an outside observer, I think you have to trust my opinion more than your own biased one.”  
  
 _That_ startled a laugh out of Nasir. “My biased opinion?” he asked incredulously, a wide smile curling his lips, “I think you've got it all wrong there.”  
  
“Assholes,” Auctus shouted from the top of the hill, “Stop flirting and get the fuck up here, there's work to do and we’ve got a schedule to keep.”  
  
Agron bit down around a pleased grin as he grumbled, “I get no respect around here.” He sighed. “Ready to meet my brother? I think he's already become a member of the crew.” An alarmed look crossed Agron's face. “Fuck, I hope they haven't let him near the power tools.”  
  
Nasir laughed again in spite of himself, half affronted and half delighted by how easily Agron seemed to be moving past Nasir assuming the worst of him. “You can’t let me off the hook that quickly,” Nasir said, taking a step forward, a hesitant hand lifting to rest against Agron’s chest, before withdrawing slightly – not sure if he had the right to touch just then. 

Agron captured Nasir’s hand in his own and pressed it firmly against his heart, frowning. “Nasir, we’ve both known from the start that neither of us is exactly good at this fucking stuff.” Agron rolled his eyes, “Fuck, we’ve been doing this whole thing out of order since day one. I think we both need to be a little lenient on each other.”

“Yeah?” Nasir hummed, taking another step closer to Agron, sliding both hands up around Agron’s neck. “That sounds like a good plan.” A split second later, Nasir was dropping his forehead against Agron’s chest and groaning. “I can’t believe I called your brother a corporate douchebag and you’re still willing to go out with me.” 

“Trust me, he’ll be pleased,” Agron said, snorting. “He worked at looking like a real adult for like a whole hour. Nothing will make him happier than knowing that he got away with it.”

“I’m not telling him,” Nasir said, shaking his head, “He needs to like me before he can hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Agron insisted, letting go of Nasir to snatch up his tossed clipboard and press it back into his hands. “I promise you. He’ll just be glad I’ve stopped whining about how much I like you, so when I introduce you as my…” Agron trailed off unsubtly, looking like a puppy and Nasir huffed a laugh.  
  
“As your boyfriend,” Nasir said quietly, smiling, “If you'd let me. That's what I want to be.”

“Fuck _yeah_ , I want that,” Agron breathed, crushing Nasir back to him, hands sneaking up beneath Nasir’s shirt to press against warm skin. “Fuck, you’re just the fucking greatest-” 

Nasir snorted but gave into the kiss Agron was silently asking for, pulling away only when he could hear Auctus yelling something at them again and Gannicus threatening to throw something at them if they didn’t hurry up. “Still glad you came here?” Nasir asked, rolling his eyes. “Even with NOBA and this fucking crew and-” Nasir sighed and smiled self-deprecatingly, “And me?” 

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” Agron said, narrowing his eyes and ducking his head to catch Nasir’s gaze with his own. “This is exactly where I want to fucking be and you are exactly what I want and that crew up there is fucked up but perfect and NOBA is out to ruin my life and relationships but it’s fucking _worth it_ because of you and this house and this town and just everything.” Agron grinned. “Now stop avoiding the subject and come meet my little brother.”

Nasir heaved a giant mock sigh of reluctance, but slid his hand into Agron’s and let himself be tugged up the hill, letting the catcalls and cheering of their asshole friends wash over him warmly, as the Old East House came into view. 


	6. epilogue: how to build a house (and make it a home)

“It’s fucking finished,” Duro bellowed as he raced through the rooms like a six year hopped up on sugar, pausing only to leap onto Agron’s prone form in the middle of the lobby, startling a series of curses out of his brother.

“Fuck Duro, get your fucking elbow out of my stomach,” Agron groaned. “I laid down here because my legs gave out, not to give you a place to land.”

“Both work,” Duro said simply, dropping his head onto his brother’s stomach and ignoring the swat he got to the ear for his trouble. “Have you slept recently?”

“Define recently,” Agron grunted.

“No,” Nasir answered for him, coming down the stairs into the lobby, looking more put together than any other human on the premises, despite having slept less than all of them. “He hasn’t. And that’s why you’re here, to get him the fuck out of this room and into bed.”

“That’s more your job as the boyfriend, isn’t it?” Duro asked doubtfully, wrinkling his nose – before breaking into laughter at the way Nasir threatened to toss his clipboard at hi face. “All right, all right, let’s get this defective, broken asshole to bed.” Duro grunted as he rolled off his brother, groaning as he stood. “C’mon-” he offered a hand up to Agron, who took it half-heartedly.

“Who you callin’ defective?” he asked belatedly, frowning. Duro snorted but Agron ignored him. “Nasir loves me just the way I am,” he declared, nudging Duro hard in the stomach. “He told me so.”

“That was his bad, _bruder_ ,” Duro said, grinning and dropping an arm around his big brother’s shoulders. “He didn’t realize he’d have to take the house and you, as is.”

“As is?” Agron asked, sounding offended – or at least, like his intent was to be offended but he couldn’t summon enough energy to make it quite there. “I don’t need renovations!”

“Keep telling yourself that, bro,” Duro said, patting him on the chest. “Now c’mon, bed.”

“Nasir, I don’t need renovations, right?” Agron asked, leaning closer to his boyfriend, who smiled and allowed the kiss to his cheek.

“Of course not babe,” he said comfortingly, squeezing Agron’s hand as he beamed smugly at his brother. “I knew what I was getting into when I bought you as is.”

Agron’s groan and Duro’s cackle could be heard even from the front steps of the Old East House – but Nasir hardly paid them mind. His ridiculous boyfriend and his ridiculous little brother could do whatever they wanted – the Old East House was their home now, and that was never going to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought :D


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